LIBRARY 


THE  BELOVED 
ADVENTURER 


WRITTEN  BY 

EMMETT  CAMPBELL  HALL 


And  Produced  as  a  Series 
of  Fifteen  Photoplays 


FEATURING 

ARTHUR  V.  JOHNSON 

AND 

LOTTIE  BRISCOE 


By 
The   Lubin   Manufacturing  Company 

PHILADELPHIA.  1914 


COPYRIGHT,  1914 

BY  THE 
LUBIN  MANUFACTURING  COMPANY 


NATIONAL  CAPITAL  Punss,  INC. 

BOOK  MANUFACTURERS 

WASHINGTON,  D.C. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  Lord  Cecil  Intervenes 5 

II.  An  Untarnished  Shield 15 

III.  An  Affair  of  Honour 96 

IV.  An  American  Heiress 37 

V.  The  Girl  from  the  West 47 

VI.  The  Golden  Hope 56 

VII.  The    Hold-up 66 

VIII.  A  Partner  to  Providence 73 

IX.  Lord  Cecil  Plays  a  Part 84 

X.  Lord  Cecil  Keeps  His  Word 94 

XI.  The  Serpent  Comes  to  Eden 105 

XII.  Fate's  Tangled  Threads 117 

XIII.  Through  Desperate  Hazards 125 

XIV.  A  Perilous  Passage 137 

XV.  In  Port  o'  Dreams  .                                                 .  149 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING  PAGE 

Arthur  V.  Johnson Frontispiece 

Lottie  Briscoe 6 

Betty — Lottie  Briscoe 7 

Count  Luco — J.  Robinson  Hall 14 

Lord  Weston—D.  B.  Bentley 14 

"I  will  love  you  as  I  did  my  father,"  Rose  said  softly    .    .  15 

Countess  Lurovich — Florence  Hackett 30 

Rose  Middlehurst — Jeanette  Hackett 31 

Mary  Harris — Ruth  Bryan      46 

Lord  Cecil — Arthur  V.  Johnson 47 

"Betty  told  a  wonderful  tale"      62 

Monte  Carson — Howard  M.  Mitchell 63 

Jimmy  Holt — Robert  La  Monte 78 

EUie  Manning — Josephine  Longworth 78 

"Have  you  done  forgot  how  I  took  you     .      .      .     when 
nobody  else  would?" 79 

"Cecil's  face  grew  white  as  his  eyes  flashed  over  the  tear- 
blotted  page"    110 

James — Edward  McLauchlin    .    .  ,111 


LORD  CECIL  INTERVENES 

Of  all  the  men  of  England,  to  lx>rd  Weston  alone  had  it  been 
given  to  put  aside  the  veil  of  formally  courteous  but  wearily 
cynical  indifference  with  which  Lord  Cecil  hid  his  true  self 
from  a  world  that  would  not  have  understood  or  would  have 
scoffed.  Wherefore  between  them  was  an  awkward  but  sin 
cere  friendship,  and  each,  with  that  horror  of  emotional  demon 
stration  which  is  typical  of  their  breed,  and  which  is  quaintly 
like  the  self-conscious  and  shrinking  reserve  of  a  boy  in  his 
teens,  hid  his  affection  for  the  other.  It  was  only  when  Lord 
Weston,  as  he  did  at  infrequent  intervals,  ran  down  to  Croft- 
laigh  for  an  idle  day  that  their  reserve  was  to  some  extent 
melted,  and  their  tongues  were  silent  or  loosened  with  casual 
speech  as  the  mood  impelled.  To  Cecil,  who  despite  the  coax 
ing  of  calculating  mothers  of  no  less  shrewd  young  ladies  of 
wealth  and  station,  had  completely  withdrawn  from  fashion 
able  society,  Weston's  gossip  was  a  refreshing  relief  from  the 
somberness  of  his  own  thoughts.  Lord  Weston's  acquaintance 
was  as  vast  as  it  was  catholic,  ranging  all  the  way  from  the 
highest  dignitaries  of  the  Church  to  the  latest  hopeful  bruisers 
from  the  collieries,  and  from  Princesses  of  the  Blood  to  Prin 
cesses  of  the  Gayety  Chorus.  Anything  occurring  in  his  world, 
to  be  outside  his  knowledge,  must  have  happened  within  the 
last  two  minutes,  if  one  might  judge  by  his  careless  revela 
tions.  How  he  maintained  his  position  on  practically  nothing 
a  year  passed  comprehension. 

The  two  men  were  strolling  along  the  stream  which  marked 
the  boundary  of  Croftlaigh,  and  Lord  Weston  nodded  toward 
the  roof  of  a  handsome  villa  which  rose  above  the  tree  tops  on 
the  opposite  bank. 

5 


6  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"Know  your  new  neighbors?"  he  asked. 

"No — didn't  know  the  place  had  been  let,"  Cecil  yawned. 

"Was  taken  a  month  ago,"  Weston  informed  him.  "Quite 
f.mazin'  that  you  haven't  been  added  to  the  Countess*  collec 
tion.  Suppose  it  must  be  a  matter  of  business  before  pleasure 
with  her  just  now,  or  she  may  be  holdin'  you  in  reserve  for 
something  big.  You  may  be  sure  she  knows  you  are  down  here, 
even  if  you  didn't  know  she  was." 

Cecil  betrayed  a  faint  interest. 

"Who  or  what  is  the  lady?"  he  asked. 

"She  is  the  Countess  Lurovich,"  Weston  explained.  "Polish, 
or  Serb.  Husband  about  now  and  then — met  him  in  Vienna 
once,  just  before  he  snuffed  out  three  officers,  one  after  the  other, 
for  lookin'  too  hard  at  the  Countess.  Sort  of  a  diplomatic  free 
lance,  I've  heard,  but  has  a  nasty  habit  of  callin'  out  a  man  on 
the  least  provocation — an*  he  never  misses.  The  Countess  is 
quite  as  deadly  in  another  way.  Her  present  specialty  is  mar- 
ryin*  orphan  heiresses  to  smooth  blackguards  she  keeps  handy. 
Rotten  business." 

Lord  Weston  suddenly  stopped  and  looked  at  Cecil  earnestly. 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  was  near  forgettin'  old  Jimmy 
Middlehurst — Bengal  Government — was  a  particular  friend  of 
yours!  Well,  I  was  just  hearin'  yesterday  that  the  Countess 
had  taken  Rose  Middlehurst  under  her  wing,  with  the  usual 
intentions.  The  girl  will  be  of  age  hi  a  week  or  so,  I  understand, 
and  come  into  a  cool  million.  Guardian  hasn't  troubled  him 
self  much  about  her — she  has  run  about  pretty  much  as  she 
pleased,  but  she's  said  to  be  a  sweet  thing,  an'  too  good  to  be 
handed  over  to  one  of  the  Lurovich  hangers-on.  She's  down 
here  for  a  visit  now." 

Cecil's  face  grew  troubled.  Middlehurst  had  indeed  been  his 
friend,  and  under  conditions  that  proved  that  friendship  to  be 
no  little  thing.  Rose  he  remembered  as  a  dainty,  coaxing  child, 


Beit >/ — Lottie  Briscoe. 


LORD  CECIL  INTERVENES  7 

her  father's  hope  and  pride,  and  even  then  giving  promise  of 
blossoming  into  a  wonderfully  fair  flower  of  womankind.  De 
cidedly  she  must  be  saved  from  the  mean  schemes  of  the  ad 
venturess. 

Lord  Weston  noted  with  understanding  the  expression  which 
had  come  into  Cecil's  eyes. 

"If  I  can  be  of  any  use,  a  wire  to  the  club  '11  reach  me  quick 
est,  y'know,"  he  said  casually,  and  Cecil  nodded  acceptance 
of  what  he  knew  to  be  an  offer  of  cooperation  to  any  extent. 

Cecil  soon  discovered  that  the  Countess  did  not  intend  that 
any  outside  influence  should  interfere  with  her  plans.  Lord 
Weston  had  secured  from  one  of  his  friends  of  doubtful  status 
a  letter  of  introduction  for  Lord  Cecil,  but  when  the  latter 
called  at  Ashley  Grange,  the  place  which  the  Countess  had 
made  her  country  home,  he  was  informed,  with  unmistakable 
decision  by  a  footman  who  appeared  over-intelligent  for  his 
position  that  the  Countess  was  not  at  home.  Nor  could  he 
obtain  an  interview  with  Rose.  That  there  might  be  no  pos 
sibility  of  his  mistaking  the  rebuff,  the  Countess  had  strolled 
languidly  from  the  house  into  the  garden  before  Cecil  had 
settled  himself  in  his  motor. 

"Looks  rather  bad,  y'know,"  Cecil  reflected  when  he  had 
pondered  the  matter  for  some  hours.  He  rose  and  paced  thought 
fully  the  length  of  the  library.  "It's  likely  the  servants'  halls 
have  been  in  communication,"  he  continued  aloud,  and  rang. 
The  appearance  of  James,  his  discreet  and  faithful  "man,"  was 
almost  instantaneous. 

"What  do  you  know  about  the  establishment  at  Ashley 
Grange,  James?"  Lord  Cecil  queried. 

"It  isn't  a  place  where  a  gentleman's  man  would  care  to  take 
service,  My  Lord — leastwise  so  I  understand,"  James  replied, 
with  an  uncertain  glance  at  his  master. 

Cecil  nodded. 


8  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"A  very  comprehensive  analytical  commentary,  James,"  he 
observed.  "Pray  continue." 

"None  of  the  local  servants — some  'ad  been  servants  at  the 
Grange  in  the  places  of  their  fathers  before  them — has  been 
kept,  My  Lord,  which  is  unusual  when  a  place  is  took  for  a 
season  only;  Tim  Meadows  was  the  only  one  as  was  kept,  him 
being  the  chauffeur  where  his  father  was  coachman,  and  he 
quit  his  situation  yesterday,  not  liking  their  foreign  ways." 

"And  why  had  Tim  been  kept  after  the  others?"  Cecil  asked. 

"Because  they  wanted  a  local  man  what  knew  all  the  roads 
hereabout — leastwise  that  is  what  is  supposed  to  have  been 
the  reason,  My  Lord,"  James  explained.  "There  is  an  adver 
tisement  in  today's  paper  for  a  new  local  chauffeur." 

"Very  good,  James.  You  may  bring  a  Scotch  and  soda — 
and  you  need  not  remember  my  curiosity,"  Cecil  said. 

"Certainly  not,  My  Lord!"  James  responded  in  a  tone  which 
conveyed  a  subtle  reproof. 

As  he  sipped  his  Scotch  and  soda  Lord  Cecil  smiled  whim 
sically. 

"If  they  knew  of  my  scheme,"  he  thought,  "half  the  cart-tail 
speakers  in  England  would  stop  denouncin'  me  as  one  of  the 
degenerate  non-earnin'  aristocracy  livin'  on  the  toil  of  the  groan- 
in*  masses  an*  curse  me  for  takin*  the  bread  out  of  the  mouth 
of  an  honest  workin'  man  who,  but  for  my  brutal  callousness 
might  earn  five  pounds  a  week  by  drivin'  the  Countess  Luro- 
vich's  motor." 

The  plans  of  the  Countess  had  worked  as  well  as  they  us 
ually  did,  the  only  suggestion  of  trouble  having  developed 
when  she  had  coolly  informed  Count  Luco,  the  gentleman 
designated  for  the  task  of  marrying  Miss  Middlehurst,  that  the 
Countess'  share  of  the  spoils  would  be  sixty  and  not  fifty  per 
cent.  The  Count's  protest  had  been  half-hearted — he  knew 
enough  of  the  private  history  of  the  Countess  not  to  care  to 


LORD  CECIL  INTERVENES  9 

seriously  antagonize  her,  and,  as  she  carelessly  intimated, 
there  were  available  quite  a  number  of  equally  presentable 
gentlemen  who  would  welcome  the  assignment  with  an  even 
smaller  share  of  the  profits.  After  all,  forty  per  cent  of  a  mil 
lion  sterling  made  a  dazzling  sum  when  figured  in  lire. 

Rose  Middlehurst  had  been  a  guest  at  Ashley  Grange  for 
only  a  few  days  when  Count  Luco  joined  the  small  party,  and 
proceeded  to  make  love  in  a  manner  that  fascinated  even  while 
it  rather  took  one's  breath.  The  Countess,  with  a  delicacy 
which  touched  the  girl,  had  hinted  that,  though  charming  to  a 
degree,  the  Count  was  known  for  his — should  she  say  "roman 
tic"  in  this  so  difficult  English — career.  It  was  whispered 

that  sorrow  still  abode  in  the  heart  of  even  the  Qu ;  but 

one  should  not  gossip,  and  Miss  Middlehurst's  cold  little  Eng 
lish  heart  would  not  readily  disturb  itself  because  of  a  pair  of 
speaking  eyes.  And,  having  put  the  romantic  young  girl  in  a 
most  receptive  mood,  the  Countess  contrived,  while  giving 
the  appearance  of  earnestly  striving  to  do  otherwise,  to  leave 
Rose  and  the  Count  almost  continually  alone  together. 

"It  is,  as  you  say,  simple  and  most  easy,"  the  Count  re 
marked  to  the  Countess  Lurovich  a  week  later.  "But — sacre 
nom  de  Saint-Antoine! — so  is  eating  a  bowl  of  mush  and  milk! 
And  when  one  does  not  even  hunger — except  for  forbidden 
fruit!" 

His  dark  eyes  rested  upon  her,  and  in  their  liquid  depths 
there  seemed  to  smoulder  a  flame.  For  an  instant  she  stared 
at  him  doubtfully,  then  laughed. 

"My  dear  Luco,  the  world  does  not  dream  of  its  loss  in  that 
you  are  not  upon  the  stage,  but  it  is  great,  believe  me.  For 
an  instant  even  I  believed  that  you — had  gone  quite  mad. 
No  wonder  the  little  pink  chit  is  ready  to  fly  with  you  to  that 
so  beautifully  pictured  castle  crowning  the  vine-clad  hills  in 
the  sunny  Southland.  Be  of  cheer,  man  ami — you  can  really 


10  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

buy  yourself  a  half-ruin  in  a  sun-blistered  vineyard,  if  the 
fancy  takes  you,  after  Tuesday." 

"Be  assured — that  fancy  will  not  possess  me,"  Count  Luco 
replied  with  decision.  "But  I  grow  weary,  Countess,  of  this 
rural  paradise  and  this  playing  the  gallant  to  a  bread-and- 
butter  miss.  May  not  the  thing  be  done  at  once?  As  I  have 
said,  she  would  fly  with  me,  evading  your  kind  but  rigid  care, 
at  a  moment's  notice." 

"And  as  I  have  told  you,"  the  Countess  responded  impati 
ently,  "this  girl  is  a  ward  in  Chancery,  and  I  have  no  desire 
to  have  the  affair  aired  in  court — and  there  are  certain  pains 
and  penalties  which  are  visited  upon  one  who  ventures  to 
marry  such  a  minor.  She  will,  however,  be  of  age  on  Tues 
day,  and  free  to  marry  as  she  may  choose." 

"Then  why  the  necessity  of  further  play-acting,  and  the 
elopement  you  have  so  carefully  planned?"  the  Count  peev 
ishly  demanded. 

"Because,  my  good  Luco,  there  will  remain  other  fish  in 
the  sea,"  the  Countess  replied  cryptically,  and  changed  the 
subject. 

"Does  that  new  chauffeur  know  the  roads,  and  can  he  care 
for  his  motor?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  he  appears  to  know  every  cow-path,  and  seemed  more 
concerned  for  his  motor  than  he  did  for  his  neck — or  mine," 
Count  Luco  grunted.  "I  would  recommend  him  highly  as 
driver  for  any  eloping  couple,  particularly  if  the  elopers  had 
needy  heirs!" 

Lord  Cecil,  under  the  borrowed  name  of  John  Dobbs,  had 
without  difficulty  secured  the  situation  vacated  by  Mr.  Tim 
Meadows.  The  danger  of  his  recognition  had  been  of  the  slight 
est,  the  difference  of  appearance  given  a  man  by  changing  from 
formal  afternoon  costume,  such  as  he  had  worn  upon  the  occa 
sion  of  his  call  at  the  Grange,  to  chauffeur's  garb,  being  quite 


LORD  CECIL  INTERVENES  11 

sufficient  to  render  it  practically  negligible.  His  intention  had 
been  to  disclose  his  identity  to  Rose  at  the  first  opportunity 
and  warn  her  of  the  trap  in  which  she  was  snared,  but  a  single 
glance  at  the  girl  as  she  joined  Count  Luco  for  a  drive  had 
warned  him  of  the  futility  of  such  a  course.  She  was  completely 
infatuated,  and  anything  that  he  might  have  said  would  have 
had  exactly  the  opposite  effect  from  what  he  desired.  His 
only  course,  therefore,  had  been  to  await  developments.  It 
was  sheer  luck  that  put  him  in  possession  of  the  plans  for  the 
elopement,  in  time  to  despatch  an  urgent  wire  to  Lord  Weston. 

The  gray  sky  was  just  glowing  into  the  rose  of  dawn  when 
on  Tuesday  Lord  Cecil  brought  the  motor  to  a  silent  stop  at 
the  foot  of  the  Grange  drive.  If  John  Dobbs  had  had  any 
scruples  about  complying  with  the  somewhat  unusual  orders 
of  a  guest  of  his  employer,  they  had  apparently  been  put  to 
sleep  by  a  five  pound  note — the  subsequent  finding  of  which  in 
a  ditch  came  near  to  ruining  for  life  a  hitherto  industrious  hind 
who  was  never  after  able  to  free  himself  from  the  idea  that  if 
one  five-pound  note  was  found  in  a  ditch  there  might  be  an 
other  in  a  second  ditch,  and  who  therefore  spent  most  of  his 
waking  hours  in  endeavoring  to  prove  his  theory  well  grounded. 

Presently  Count  Luco,  yawning  heavily,  came  from  the 
silent  house,  and  with  ill-concealed  impatience  waited  beside 
the  motor.  Very  soon  after,  Cecil  could  see  a  girlish  form 
hurrying  toward  them,  and  Rose  was  soon  by  Luco's  side.  At 
her  appearance,  the  Count  had  at  once  assumed  the  manner  of 
the  eager  and  tender  lover,  and  now  gently  urged  her  toward 
the  machine.  For  an  instant  the  girl  hesitated,  and  looked 
into  his  face  with  frightened  eyes. 

"You — you  will  be  very  good  to  me?"  she  whispered,  and  he 
smiled  tender  assurance. 

"Can  you  ask  it,  beloved?"  he  replied  softly,  and  lifted  her 
into  the  car. 


12  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"Get  on — swiftly — you  have  your  orders,"  Count  Luco  said 
to  the  waiting  chauffeur,  and  the  machine  moved  rapidly  away. 

Ten  minutes  later  Cecil  swung  the  car  abruptly  to  the  right, 
and  Count  Luco  started  up  angrily. 

"You  are  off  the  road — pig!"  he  cried.  "It  was  the  turn  to 
the  left.  Stop,  imbecile!" 

The  only  reply  was  a  burst  of  speed  that  caused  the  Count  to 
sink  swiftly  and  ungracefully  back  into  his  seat  and  clutch 
at  his  hat.  The  car  leaped  forward,  with  sickening  lurches  as 
corners  were  turned,  and  a  breath-taking  swiftness  on  the 
straightaways. 

"Mon  dieu — he  is  mad!"  the  Count  gasped,  and  with  white 
face  and  starting  eyes  saw  the  reeling  trees  fly  past.  The  half- 
formed  idea  of  leaping  from  the  car  was  quickly  abandoned. 

"If  we  are  killed,  it  will  be  together,  beloved!"  the  girl 
whispered  in  his  ear,  but  he  pushed  her  away  frantically.  A 
village  flashed  up  before  them,  and  just  beyond  it  the  hard- 
braked  car  came  to  a  skidding  stop  in  front  of  the  Red  Lion 
Inn. 

"Had  to  come  by  here  for  something,"  the  mad  chauffeur 
said  shortly,  and  hurried  into  the  house.  With  shaking  limbs 
Count  Luco  crawled  to  the  ground. 

"For  nothing  on  earth  shall  that  fiend  again  have  me  in  his 
power!"  he  swore,  and  wiped  the  cold  moisture  from  his  brow. 

Suddenly  from  the  inn  door  rushed  a  young  woman  who, 
with  a  cry  of  mingled  joy  and  reproach  threw  her  arms  about 
the  Count's  neck  and  kissed  him  loudly. 

"Oh,  my  'usband!"  she  sobbed,  and  real  tears  cut  littl* 
channels  through  the  lavish  makeup  on  her  cheaply  pretty  face. 
"You  won't  be  mad  at  me  because  I  came,  will  you?"  she 
continued  plaintively.  "I  just  'ad  to  see  you — you  ain't  been 
near  'ome  for  weeks  an*  weeks,  an'  the  baby  sick,  an'  all!" 


LORD   CECIL  INTERVENES  13 

Count  Luco  struggled  to  free  himself,  but  the  young  woman 
only  clung  the  closer.  With  blanched  cheeks  Rose  Middlehurst 
climbed  stiffly  from  the  machine,  and  touched  the  woman  on 
the  arm. 

"Are  you — this  gentleman's  wife?"  she  asked  painfully. 

The  other  turned  indignantly. 

"Am  I  'is  wife?"  she  echoed.  "Go's  else  wife  would  I  be,  I'd 
like  to  know,  an'  me  with  a  blessed  baby  'onie  this  minute! 
Respectable  married  I  am,  I'd  'ave  you  know,  wiv  my  certifi 
cate  in  a  gold  frame  'ung  hup  in  the  parlor,  where  it's  been  these 
two  years!  'E  won't  dare  for  to  deny  'is  lawful  wedded  wife!' 

"She — it  is  a  lie!"  Count  Luco  screamed,  but  the  bewilder 
ment  upon  his  face  might  equally  as  well  have  been  the  con 
fusion  of  guilt,  and  Rose  turned  away,  sick  and  giddy.  From 
the  single  glance  she  gave  him,  the  Count  understood  that  be 
tween  them  all  things  had  ended.  With  an  oath  he  tore  him 
self  from  the  clinging  arms  of  the  self-declared  wife,  and  sprang 
to  the  driving  seat  of  the  automobile.  As  the  car  sprang  away, 
a  gentleman  strolled  from  the  inn,  and  Rose  looked  at  him 
with  pathetic  appeal. 

"Lord  Weston — please,  oh,  please,  take  me  away  from  here!" 
she  sobbed,  as,  recognizing  her,  he  stepped  quickly  forward. 

"Come  in,  my  dear,"  he  said  gently,  and  led  her  into  the  Red 
Lion. 

A  half  hour  later,  white  faced  but  calm,  Rose  was  waiting  in 
a  private  sitting  room  of  the  inn.  Lord  Weston  had  promised 
to  take  her  back  to  London,  and  she  had  already  heard  the 
sound  of  his  motor.  Lord  Weston  himself  was,  at  this  moment, 
engaged  in  expressing  his  thanks  to  Miss  Mazie  Conquest,  of 
the  Gayety  Chorus,  and  slipping  into  her  hand  a  twenty- 
pound  note. 

"La,  Lord  Weston,  I'd  a  been  glad  to  do  it  for  you,"  Miss 
Mazie  declared  heartily.  "Not  but  what  the  pony  won't  be 


14  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

handy,"  she  added  frankly  as  she  tucked  the  note  into  her 
breast.  "She  is  a  real  pretty  little  thing,"  she  suggested  subtly, 
but  Lord  Weston  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  countin'  on  you,  Mazie,  to  keep  this  under  your  hat," 
he  said.  "Just  you  be  a  good  girl,  an'  run  back  to  town  an' 
forget  all  about  it." 

Mazie  looked  coolly  into  his  eyes,  and  then  nodded  satis 
faction. 

"Right!"  she  said  cheerfully.  "I  don't  know  the  game,  but 
I  know  you,  and  mum's  the  word." 

Shortly  after  Lord  Weston  rapped  at  the  door  of  Rose's 
sitting  room,  and  entered  smiling.  The  girl  regarded  him 
gravely. 

"There  is  something  about  this  I  do  not  understand,  Lord 
Weston,"  she  said  quietly.  "There  was  motive  behind  the 
chauffeur's  action  in  bringing  me  here.  Why  did  he  do  it?" 

"By  so  doing  he  saved  you  from  much  sadness,  little  girl," 
Lord  Weston  replied,  and  the  girl  nodded. 

"I  know,  and  I  am  grateful — but  why?  Tell  me,  if  you 
know,"  she  insisted,  and  he  told  her. 

"And  he  did  this  because  he  was  my  father's  friend,"  the 
girl  said  softly,  when  she  Ijad  been  told  the  truth,  with  a  slight 
deviation  to  account  for  the  opportune  appearance  of  the 
woman  she  still  supposed  to  be  the  Count's  wife.  "He  must  be 
like  my  father.  You  say  he  lives  near — will  you  not  take  me 
to  him,  that  I  may  thank  him,  and  tell  him  that  if  I  may  I 
will  love  him  as  I  did  my  father?" 

And  when,  presently,  she  did  so,  with  sweet  gravity,  Lord 
Cecil's  heart  threw  wide  its  gates  as  to  a  weary  child. 


II 

AN  UNTARNISHED  SHIELD 

Henry,  Lord  Cecil,  eighteenth  Earl  of  Swarthmore,  frowned 
with  annoyance  as  he  re-read  the  note  from  Lord  Weston  which 
had  arrived  in  the  morning's  post.  The  labored  casualness  of 
the  communication  was  to  him  strong  evidence  that  the  matter 
was  serious. 

"My  dear  chap,"  the  missive  ran.  "Haven't  you  had  enough 
^f  Croftlaigh  for  a  while?  Do  run  up  to  town  for  a  day  or  so 
at  least,  just  so  that  I  may  get  a  little  relief  from  the  lovely 
ladies  who  torment  me  with  inquiries  about  you  when  I  want 
them  to  at  least  pretend  an  interest  in  me.  Several  shows  that 
are  not  at  all  bad.  By  the  way,  for  a  youngster  Rodney  seems 
to  be  doing  wonderful  execution.  It  is  the  talk  of  the  club,  the 
manner  in  which  Mile.  Dazia,  of  the  Gayety,  has  taken  him 
up.  But  this  is  probably  no  news  to  you.  Better  run  up  and 
bring  back  the  smiles  to  the  fair  faces  of  Lady  F —  and  the 
Duchess  of  B— ." 

"It  isn't  like  Weston  to  gossip,  y'know,"  Cecil  commented 
aloud,  and  took  a  restless  turn  about  the  old  library.  "The 
lx>y  must  be  getting  in  no  end  of  a  mess,  by  Jove!"  he  added 
decisively.  "Mile.  Dazia  is  usin'  him,  and  I'd  give  something 
to  know  for  what.  Just  what  use  to  her  could  he  be?" 

A  half  hour's  pondering  brought  no  solution,  and  with  a 
gesture  of  impatience,  Lord  Cecil  pulled  the  bell  cord.  A  few 
moments  later  his  faithful  and  exemplary  "man,"  James, 
responded. 

"You  may  pack — for  town,  James,"  Lord  Cecil  informed 
him.  "We  will  catch  the  morning  mail  at  Ferncliff." 

1.5 


16  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"Very  good,  my  Lord,"  the  man  responded,  and  disappeared. 

Cecil  lit  a  cigarette,  and  resumed  his  unsatisfactory  specu 
lations. 

The  possibilities  suggested  by  Lord  Weston's  communica 
tion  were,  in  truth,  disturbing.  Mile.  Dazia  was  a  person  of 
international  reputation,  concerning  whom  much  was  known, 
but  much  more  unknown.  Of  only  ordinary  beauty,  with  an 
inconsequential  voice,  and  indifferent  ability  as  a  dancer,  she 
nevertheless  had  in  the  brief  years  since  she  emerged  from  un- 
guessed  obscurity  to  blaze  a  rocket-like  course  across  the  skies 
of  Europe,  set  a  half  dozen  capitals  by  the  ears,  and  was  just 
now  the  particular  sensation  of  Ixmdon.  Russian  Grand  Dukes, 
German  princelings,  French  savants  and  Croesuses  from  the 
West  had  laid  at  her  feet  homage  and  treasures,  and  she  had 
smiled  upon  all  alike,  and  shown  favor  to  none  above  another, 
taking  greedily  with  both  hands  all  that  was  offered,  and  some 
times  that  which  had  not  been  offered.  It  was  entirely  out  of 
character  for  Mile.  Dazia  to  single  out,  from  the  numbers,  of 
rank  and  wealth,  who  clamored  for  recognition,  a  youthful 
soldier  with  an  allowance  not  equalling  in  a  year  what  any 
one  of  a  score  of  her  slaves  would  spend  on  "souvenirs"  for  a 
dinner  graced  by  her  presence. 

Besides  Lord  Cecil,  his  younger  brother,  Rodney,  less  than 
a  year  out  of  Sandhurst  and  now  on  duty,  while  awaiting  as 
signment  to  a  line  regiment,  as  aide  de  camp  at  the  War  Office, 
was  the  only  surviving  member  of  his  ancient  line.  An  orphan 
since  childhood,  Rodney  had  been  in  Cecil's  eyes  more  a  son 
than  a  younger  brother,  and  there  had  been  lavished  upon  him 
an  affection  quite  equal  to  that  ever  given  by  a  father.  The 
family  fortune  had  dwindled  sadly  in  late  generations,  but  this 
was  a  matter  which  gave  Cecil  small  concern  except  that  it 
necessitated  making  the  allowance  granted  the  young  soldier 


AN  UNTARNISHED  SHIELD  17 

very  modest  indeed.  Besides  boyish  good  looks  and  likeable 
manners,  there  was  nothing  about  Rodney  to  attract  atten 
tion — and  these  were  not  qualities  which  could  be  assumed  to 
particularly  interest  Mile.  Dazia. 

But  Rodney  was  troubled  with  no  such  reflections.  With 
the  superb  egotism  of  youth  he  accepted  his  favortism  at  the 
actress's  court,  and  ever  demanded  more.  It  was  his  first 
affair,  and,  under  the  spell  of  her  perfect  arts  he  had  already 
become  fairly  mad  with  desire  for  complete  possession  of  this 
woman,  who  gave  a  little,  and  then  fled,  laughing  and  alluring, 
from  his  burning  lips  and  hungry  arms. 

"Corinna!  You  will  drive  me  insane!"  he  cried  wildly,  when, 
once  again,  she  allowed  him  for  an  instant  to  think  that  she 
had  at  last  surrendered  to  his  caresses,  and  then  danced  away 
with  mocking  laughter.  He  covered  his  white  face  with  shak 
ing  hands. 

"I  will  put  an  end  to  it!"  he  suddenly  swore.  "I  will  not 
stand  this  torture.  Happen  what  may  after,  no  hell  could  equal 
this." 

Corinna  noted  with  the  coolness  of  a  chemist  who  allows  his 
compound  to  boil  to  within  a  split  second  of  the  explosive 
point  that  the  boy  had  ceased  to  tremble,  and  that  into  his  voice 
had  come  a  note  of  reckless  desperation. 

"It  is  enough,"  she  thought,  "the  young  fool  will  be  killing 
himself  on  my  rug  in  a  few  minutes,  and  that  would  be  incon 
venient." 

Hastily  she  crossed  the  room,  and  with  caressing  hands  raised 
his  face  so  that  he  might  look  into  her  glowing  eyes. 

"Almost  I  believe  that  you  do  love  me,"  she  whispered,  "and 
yet — words  are  easy  to  say,  and  I  have  seen  upon  the  stage  as 
convincing  agonies.  I — I  would  you  could  prove  it  to  me,"  she 
added  softly,  and  in  her  glance  was  a  world  of  promise. 


18  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"I  will  prove  it — what  proof  do  you  demand?"  the  boy 
asked,  with  the  light  of  hope  returning  to  his  face. 

Corinna  appeared  to  ponder  deeply,  then  clapped  her  hands 
with  delight. 

"I  will  make  it  not  hard  for  you — oh,  a  little  thing!"  she 
said.  "Listen.  Among  the  jewels  which  my  good  friends  have 
given  me,  there  is  no  black  pearl — and  I  do  so  desire  a  black 
pearl!  This,  then,  is  a  task  for  you,  such  as  ladies  of  old  set 
for  their  knights — bring  me  tomorrow  the  black  pearl  called 
'Night  Rose,'  which  old  von  Hagen  is  known  to  have,  and  you 
shall  know  happiness  such  as  kings  have  sought  in  vain — fail, 
and  never  more  shall  that  door  be  opened  to  you.  I  believe 
you  will  not  fail,  and  you  may  kiss  me  once  as  earnest  of  what 
will  be." 

From  that  clinging  kiss  the  boy  drew  away  giddy  with  the 
mad  leap  of  his  blood. 

"I  will  get  the  pearl,"  he  muttered,  and  stumbled  from  the 
room.  Corinna  yawned,  crossed  the  apartment,  and  threw 
aside  a  heavy  curtain. 

"I  think  my  part  is  done,  Baron  Stronverg,"  she  said. 

"And  very  well  done,  my  child,"  Stronverg  said  admiringly. 
"He  will  go  directly  to  von  Hagen's  shop,  you  think?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"Then  I  had  best  follow,"  the  Baron  said,  and  gathered  up 
his  hat  and  cane.  For  some  moments  he  paused,  and  eyed 
Corinna  hungrily. 

"When  all  this  is  done,  I  also  shall  have  something  of  love 
to  say,"  he  told  her,  and  took  his  departure. 

Although  it  was  well  past  midnight  when  Rodney  ryshed 
impulsively  from  the  actress's  luxurious  apartment,  he  pro 
ceeded  directly  to  the  quaint  little  shop  of  the  jewel  collector, 
von  Hagen.  He  was  quite  without  plans,  and  to  his  excited 
mind  it  did  not  occur  that  a  black  pearl  of  sufficient  conse 
quence  to  be  given  a  name  would  represent  a  fortune. 


AN  UNTARNISHED  SHIELD  19 

A  light  burned  in  the  jeweler's  shop,  and  the  old  man  did 
not  appear  to  regard  it  as  strange  that  a  customer  should 
choose  such  an  hour  for  a  call.  He  merely  looked  up  inquiringly 
from  the  tray  of  unset  stones  which  he  was  examining. 

"You  have  a  black  pearl,  called  'Night  Rose?'  "  Rodney 
demanded. 

The  jeweler  nodded. 

"I  have  that  pearl,  and  it  is  for  sale.  It's  price  is  twenty 
thousand  pounds,"  he  said  indifferently. 

For  a  moment  the  boy  was  stricken  dumb.  So,  she  had  made 
a  jest  of  him — as  well  might  she  have  told  him  to  bring  the 
very  Crown — to  purchase  this  pearl  wrould  strain  the  resources 
of  the  diminished  family  estate,  let  alone  his  scanty  allowance. 
And  she  had  known  this,  and  had  said  "bring  it  to  me!"  As 
she  knew  he  could  not  purchase  it,  had  she  meant ? 

With  subconscious  caution  Rodney  glanced  through  the 
window  at  the  deserted  street.  The  man  was  old — a  swift 
leap — 

As  though  reading  his  thoughts  before  they  were  even 
shaped  into  concrete  form,  von  Hagen  slightly  shifted  his 
position,  and  Rodney  saw  that  in  his  hand  was  a  heavy  auto 
matic  revolver. 

"I  bid  you  good  evening,  sir,"  the  jeweler  said  quietly. 
"Should  you  decide  to  purchase  the  pearl,  I  will  be  pleased  to 
sell  it  to  you — the  price,  as  I  said,  is  twenty  thousand  pounds." 

Without  a  word  Rodney  hurried  out  into  the  night,  and, 
heedless  of  direction,  rushed  away.  He  took  no  note  of  a  form 
which  detached  itself  from  the  shadows  and  followed  with 
silent  swiftness. 

Presently  the  boy  became  aware  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
passing  along  the  Embankment,  which  was  silent  and  deserted. 
He  came  to  a  stand,  and  gloomily  eyed  the  great  river,  which 
seemed  to  slip  furtively  along  as  though  to  steal  unawares 


20  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

under  the  arches  of  old  London  Bridge,  the  lights  of  which 
were  like  a  string  of  low-hung  stars.  Rodney  laughed  wildly. 

"Why  not?"  he  said  bitterly,  and  with  steady  steps  moved 
toward  the  water.  As  he  paused  upon  the  brink,  a  hand  fell 
lightly  upon  his  shoulder,  and  he  wheeled  to  look  into  the  face 
of  a  stranger. 

"Your  pardon,  sir,"  the  man  said  courteously,  "but  you  are 
young,  and  youth  is  prone  to  ill-considered  haste.  Perhaps  some 
little  thing  has  loomed  large  in  your  eyes.  So  often  it  is  only 
a  matter  of  money.  Would  life  appear  to  you  more  desirable 
if  I  were  to  put  into  your  hands  twenty  thousand  pounds?" 

"You  mock  me,  sir,"  Rodney  said  with  a  touch  of  dignity. 
"It  ill  becomes  you  to  make  a  jest  of  one  whom  fortune  has 
brought  to  a  bitter  pass." 

Baron  Stronverg  raised  a  protesting  hand. 

"I  do  not  jest,"  he  replied  quietly,  and  from  his  pocket  pro 
duced  a  thick  packet,  which  he  offered  for  inspection. 

"There,"  he  continued,  "are  Bank  of  England  notes  to  the 
amount  of  twenty  thousand  pounds.  They  are  yours  for  a 
trifling  service.  Give  me  your  word  that  you  will  perform  this 
service,  and  you  may  retain  the  notes  in  your  possession,  giv 
ing  your  further  word  that  you  will  not  spend  the  money  until 
the  service  has  been  accomplished,  which  will  be  this  morning— 
the  dawn  is  now  breaking." 

The  bank  notes  were  crushed  in  Rodney's  grasp,  and  his 
heart  was  pounding  so  fiercely  as  to  prevent  speech.  This 
handful  of  paper  meant  life,  life,  delirious  with  triumphant 
love!  No  more  could  he  have  given  up  this  strangely  acquired 
wealth — the  price  of  the  "Night  Rose" — than  could  a  desert 
wanderer,  dying  of  thirst,  put  aside  untasted  a  brimming  cup 
of  sparkling  water.  Even  before  he  knew  the  service  to  be  paid, 
he  had  in  his  heart  agreed  thereto. 

"What  is  it  you  would  have  me  do?"  he  at  length  muttered. 


AN  UNTARNISHED  SHIELD  21 

"Only  this,"  the  stranger  said  softly.  "As  aide  on  duty  at  the 
War  Office,  you  may  pass  unquestioned  into  the  private  office 
of  the  Chief  of  Intelligence.  There  is  on  his  desk  a  wicker 
basket.  Tomorrow  morning  a  clerk  will  from  time  to  time 
place  in  this  basket  packets  of  papers,  for  consideration  by  the 
Chief,  who  invariably  arrives  at  his  desk  a  minute  or  two  after 
ten  o'clock.  At  exactly  one  minute  to  ten,  there  will  be  placed 
in  the  basket  a  sealed  packet.  This  packet  you  will  bring  to 
me,  unopened." 

"What  will  this  packet  contain?"  Rodney  whispered,  but  in 
his  soul  he  knew  that  no  matter  what  the  contents,  he  would 
secure  it. 

"That  I  can  not  say,  and  you  need  never  know,"  the  stranger 
told  him.  "Will  you  bring  it  me,  or  will  you  give  me  back  my 
notes?" 

Rodney's  clutch  upon  the  notes  tightened  convulsively. 

"I  will  bring  it,"  he  muttered.    "Where?" 

The  hours  that  followed  were  passed  by  Rodney  in  a  fever 
ish  and  tormenting  eagerness.  When  he  had  changed  to  his 
uniform,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait,  and  until  nine- 
thirty  he  tramped  the  streets,  unfamiliar  as  a  foreign  city  with 
their  early  morning  bustle  of  tradesmen  and  servants.  He  shut 
from  his  mind,  with  a  panic  of  fear,  the  thought  of  what  he 
was  to  do,  and  concentrated  his  thoughts  upon  what  the  re 
ward  would  be. 

At  a  quarter  to  ten  he  entered  the  War  Office  building,  and 
made  his  way  to  the  wing  occupied  by  the  Division  of  Intelli 
gence,  where,  in  the  private  office  of  the  Chief  he  waited.  From 
time  to  time  a  clerk  entered,  and  without  appearing  to  observe 
the  officer,  placed  packets  of  papers  in  the  basket  on  the  desk. 

At  length  the  clock  upon  the  wall  indicated  one  minute  to 
ten. 'r"|  Rodney's  heart  seemed  to  pause,  and  a  cold  dampness 
broke  out  on  his  forehead.  The  clerk  again  entered  the  room, 


22  THE   BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

and  with  a  scarcely  discernible  emphasis  of  action  placed  ia 
the  basket  a  packet,  wrapped  in  brown  paper  and  closed  with 
tape  and  wax  seals.  A  moment  later  he  had  left  Rodney  alone. 

With  a  gasp  the  boy  stepped  swiftly  forward,  slipped  the 
packet  inside  his  tunic,  and  hurried  out. 

Unmolested  and  apparently  unnoticed,  Rodney  quit  the 
building,  and  made  his  way  to  the  address  given  by  the  mys 
terious  stranger.  The  man  received  him  in  silence,  but  held 
out  his  hand,  an  eager  gleam  in  his  eyes.  Silently  Rodney 
placed  in  his  grasp  the  sealed  packet,  and  fled. 

The  old  jeweler,  von  Hagen,  looked  up  without  surprise  as 
Rodney  entered  his  shabby  shop,  and  placed  upon  the  counter 
a  small  box. 

"Here  is  the  pearl — give  me  the  money,"  he  said,  and  the 
exchange  was  quickly  accomplished. 

Flushed  with  triumph,  Rodney  presently  burst  into  Mile. 
Dazia's  drawing  room,  and  with  sparkling  glance  the  actress 
swept  forward  to  meet  him. 

"You  have  brought  me  it?'*  she  cried,  and  broke  into  gurgles 
of  delight  as  he  placed  the  precious  thing  in  her  palm. 

"I  can  not  stay — I  am  on  duty — I  must  go,"  Rodney  stam 
mered,  not  daring  to  follow  his  impulse  to  crush  her  in  his 
arms. 

"Go  now,  but  come  tonight  and  demand  what  you  will,"  she 
said  softly,  and  the  boy  rushed  away. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Corinna's  manner  changed 
swiftly.  She  glanced  at  the  great  pearl  with  quiet  satisfaction, 
then  moving  briskly  to  an  inner  room  spoke  sharply. 

"Do  not  take  time  to  pack  the  remainder  of  the  things,"  she 
ordered,  and  the  intelligent-faced  maid  nodded  understand- 
ingly.  "We  leave  on  the  instant." 

Suddenly  Corinna  laughed. 


AN  UNTARNISHED  SHIELD  28 

"Fancy  the  sensation!"  she  exclaimed.  "Can  you  not  see 
the  newspapers  and  the  posters  on  the  hoardings — 'Mysteri 
ous  disappearance  of  world  famous  actress!' — 'Mile.  Dazia 
vanishes!'  It  is  a  pity,"  she  added  regretfully,  "for  the  world 
of  fools  has  really  thought  me  a  great  actress,  and  I  must  give 
up  much.  But,  after  all,  the  game  has  paid  well." 

Upon  Cecil's  arrival  in  town,  he  made  his  way  directly  to  the 
War  Office,  knowing  that  at  this  hour  his  brother  should  be  on 
duty  there.  He  was  filled  with  an  unaccountable  foreboding 
which  he  was  impatient  to  set  at  rest  by  seeing  the  boy,  and 
proceeded  at  once  to  the  Intelligence  Division.  General  Sir 
John  Harvey,  the  famous  old  soldier  who  had  been  his  father's 
friend  and  who  was  now  the  head  of  this  important  office, 
greeted  him  with  grave  kindliness. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  here,  Henry,"  he  said  slowly.  "I  have 
just  sent  to  Croftlaigh  a  wire  begging  you  to  come." 

"You  wrere  my  father's  friend,  and  are  mine,  Sir  John — 
speak  plainly,"  Cecil  replied  quietly,  but  his  heart  was  in  the 
grip  of  a  numbing  horror. 

The  General  suddenly  raised  his  eyes  and  spoke  with  rapid 
terseness. 

"One  hour  ago,"  he  said,  "there  was  stolen  from  this  desk  a 
sealed  packet  containing  plans  of  the  secret  harbor  defenses— 
the  submarine  mine  maps — of  every  gateway  to  England. 
The  man  who  placed  that  packet  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy 
has  laid  open  to  invasion,  should  the  navy  but  be  drawn  away, 
the  very  heart  of  his  country." 

"This  packet — it  has  not  been  recovered?"  Lord  Cecil's 
\vhite  lips  whispered. 

"It  has  not,  nor  will  it  be.  England  does  not  guard  her 
secrets  so  poorly  that  the  plot  of  foreign  spies,  the  connivance 
of  a  clerk,  and  the  treachery  of  a  subaltan  may  violate  them. 


24  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

The  stolen  plans  are  false,  and  if  acted  upon  will  prove  a  deadly 
snare,  but  this  is  known  to  you  and  me  alone." 

The  old  soldier  pondered  sadly. 

"We  are  in  a  calm  that  is  the  forerunner  of  the  hurricane, 
Lord  Cecil,"  he  said.  "God  knows  when  the  storm  will  break! 
It  is  not  expedient  that  any  official  notice  be  taken  of  this 
thing — the  spies  shall  leave  England  unmolested — the  clerk 
shall  go  his  way  with  his  purchase  price — none  but  those  who 
will  shut  the  secret  in  their  hearts  will  know  that  an  officer  of 
the  King  has  been  a  traitor,  no  less  base  because  the  effect  of 
his  act  is  discounted.  So  far  as  he  is  concerned  it  is  the  same  as 
though  the  country  he  had  sworn  to  serve  lay  in  smoking  ruins 
under  the  bloody  heel  of  the  enemy.  My  Lord  Cecil,  that  man 
is  your  brother,  and  the  honor  of  your  house  is  in  your  keeping." 

Lord  Cecil  bowed  gravely. 

"Sir  John,  I  thank  you,"  he  said. 

At  this  moment  Rodney  entered  the  room,  and  a  quick  smile 
of  pleasure  lighted  his  face  at  sight  of  his  elder  brother.  Sir 
John  glanced  at  the  young  officer  with  expressionless  eyes. 

"Lieutenant  Cecil,"  he  said  quietly,  "you  will  at  once  pro 
ceed  to  Croftlaigh  Manor,  remaining  there  until  further  orders. 
My  Lord  Cecil,  I  bid  you  good  morning." 

"Come,"  Lord  Cecil  said,  and  followed  by  his  bewildered  and 
rebellious  brother  left  the  room. 

Five  hours  later  the  brothers  sat  in  the  old  library  at  Croft 
laigh.  Apparently  unmoved,  Lord  Cecil  rested  unwavering  eyes 
upon  the  stricken  white  face  of  the  boy,  and  heard  to  the  end 
the  broken  flood  of  agonized  confession  and  repentance  that 
poured  from  his  lips.  When  the  other  had  sobbed  himself  to 
silence  he  spoke  gravely. 

"While  in  my  keeping  is  the  honor  of  this  house,  no  stain 
may  dim  its  untarnished  shield,"  he  said,  and  the  boy  slowly 
raised  his  head,  while  the  pride  and  courage  of*a  noble  race 


AN  UNTARNISHED  SHIELD  25 

fought  to  banish  the  weakness  and  cowardice  that  had  so 
strangely  usurped  their  place.  At  length  he  spoke,  and  his 
voice  was  firm. 

"I  now  remember  that  in  my  keeping  also  is  that  honor,  my 
brother,"  he  said. 

Silently  Lord  Cecil  took  from  its  drawer  and  placed  upon 
the  table  a  heavy  revolver  of  dull  blue  steel,  and  without  an 
other  word  walked  slowly  from  the  room. 

In  the  famous  old  rose  garden,  the  first  plants  for  which  had 
been  brought  from  the  far  Holy  Land  by  that  ancestor  who 
rode  by  the  side  of  Richard  of  the  Lion's  Heart,  Lord  Cecil, 
last  of  his  ancient  line,  stood  and  stared  unseeingly  at  the  full 
blown  blossoms,  while  lines  as  of  age  etched  themselves  swiftly 
upon  his  white  face. 

"And  oh,  how  I  loved  him!"  he  whispered,  and  the  words 
seemed  to  echo,  as  they  would  through  long  years,  in  his  empty, 
aching  heart. 


Ill 

AN  AFFAIR  OF  HONOUR 

The  sun  of  late  Spring  was  streaming  warmly  into  the  apart 
ment  in  shabbily  respectable  Saxton  Square,  which,  because 
of  shrinking  rent-rolls  and  prodigally  heedless  benevolences, 
had  come  to  represent  the  "town  house"  of  Lord  Cecil,  Peer  of 
England.  The  great  mansion  that  for  an  hundred  years  had 
been  the  abiding  place  of  his  family  during  "the  season"  still 
stood  in  Portland  Place,  but  some  person  of  no  consequence  at 
all,  a  millionaire  tradesman  of  the  City,  the  disdainful  James, 
Lord  Cecil's  "man,"  believed  it  was,  now  held  state  in  its  famous 
Long  Drawing  room,  which,  from  end  to  end,  was  fifty  full 
paces  for  a  Life  Guardsman. 

Thinking  of  these  things,  the  excellent  James  barely  checked 
an  audible  sigh  as  he  glanced  about  the  room.  Despite  his  best 
efforts,  it,  like  the  Square  outside,  was  shabby,  and  the  clear 
sunshine  pitilessly  revealed  how  worn  and  threadbare  was  the 
old  furniture  and  faded  carpet.  By  miracles  of  skill  and  loving 
patience  was  James  enabled  to  send  his  master  forth  each  day 
with  garments  irreproachable  in  aspect,  despite  long  wear,  but 
the  furnishings  were  beyond  him.  Cecil  being  occupied  with 
the  morning's  post,  James  was  at  liberty  to  shake  his  head  with 
loving  mournfullness.  For  James,  this  was  demonstration  of 
emotion  quite  extraordinary. 

From  the  score  of  invitations  and  tradesmen's  bills,  which 
were  indifferently  pushed  aside,  Cecil  selected  a  letter,  the 
handwriting  of  which  he  recognized  with  a  smile  of  pleasure. 
It  was  dated  from  the  Horse  Guards'  Club,  and  from  the  strong, 
careless  scrawl  one  might  readily  surmise  something  of  the 
character  of  Lieutenant  Robert  Whitmore  Burton  Stanley, 
aged  twenty-two. 
26 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  HONOUR  27 

"Dear  Uncle,"  the  note  read.  "At  last  Rose  has  promised 
to  marry  me,  and  I  am  the  happiest  man  alive,  though  she 
makes  some  foolish  conditions  as  to  no  gambling,  and  I  mustn't 
even  look  at  another  girl.  She  leaves  town  this  afternoon,  for 
the  summer.  Y'r  affect,  nephew,  Robt.  Stanley." 

A  glow  of  real  happiness  came  into  Cecil's  kindly  eyes.  Of 
all  the  world,  since  the  death  of  his  beloved  younger  brother, 
the  dearest  to  his  lonely  heart  had  been  the  impulsive,  care 
free  young  soldier,  and  Rose  Middlehurst,  as  fair  and  sweet  as 
an  English  primrose,  who  cherished  for  Lord  Cecil  a  love  such 
as  she  would  have  given  her  dead  father. 

Cecil's  pleasant  dreams  were  broken  by  a  slight  altercation 
at  the  door — the  faithful  James  was  barring  the  way  of  an 
importunate  visitor. 

"You  may  show  the  lady  in,  James,"  Cecil  said  quietly,  and 
there  entered  a  woman  of  shabby-genteel  appearance  whose 
first  words  disclosed  the  professional  beggar. 

"Give  the  lady  five  pounds,  James,"  Cecil  directed,  inter 
rupting  a  plaintive  tale  with  a  courteous  bow,  and  resumed  the 
reading  of  his  letter.  "I  said  five  pounds,  James,"  he  presently 
remarked  mildly,  without  looking  up,  and  that  worthy  servi 
tor,  who  had  vainly  attempted  to  dismiss  the  woman  with  an 
economical  five  crowns,  sighed  hopelessly  as  he  complied  with 
the  order. 

Cecil  was  reading  the  postscript  of  Robert's  note.    It  ran: 

The  beastly  bank  people  keep  writing  that  I  have  over 
drawn  £400,  just  when  I  need  new  polo  ponies.  Add  that 
much  to  my  allowance  this  quarter,  like  a  good  old  Nunkie, 
will  you?  Bob. 

Cecil  rose,  glancing  at  James,  and  his  hat  and  cane  were  im 
mediately  placed  in  his  hands.  Then  he  strolled  out,  an  indul 
gent  smile  hovering  about  his  lips,  but  James,  examining  the 
contents  of  a  battered  cash-box,  sighed  and  shook  his  head  in 
troubled  thought. 


28  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

At  the  comfortable  house  which  Rose  had  maintained  since 
her  majority  a  year  before,  with  the  nominal  chaperonage  of  an 
ancient  and  vague  relative  and  an  independence  which  would 
have  been  deemed  scandalous  in  a  young  lady  of  smaller  for 
tune  or  less  distinguished  connections,  Lord  Cecil  was  affec 
tionately  greeted  by  the  happy  girl.  A  few  minutes  afterward, 
Robert  entered,  and  Rose  hurried  away  to  prepare  for  her 
journey  to  the  country. 

"Aw,  that  bank  thing,  y'know,  Uncle,"  Bob  suggested  casu 
ally.  "The  silly  asses  have  sent  me  another  notice — its  positively 
a  nuisance.  By  Jove,  one  would  think  they  needed  the  money!" 

"Thanks,  awfully,  sir,"  he  said  a  few  minutes  later,  as  he 
carelessly  pocketed  the  check  Lord  Cecil  handed  him.  "If 
Rose  doesn't  hurry,  we  shan't  catch  the  express — I'm  goin' 
to  see  her  on,  of  course.  Only  wish  I  could  run  down  with  her, 
but  I'm  on  duty  this  afternoon." 

Just  ten  minutes  later  Rose  entered,  and  was  conducted  by 
the  two  men  to  the  waiting  cab.  Cecil  said  goodbye  and  walked 
away,  his  heart,  in  its  own  peculiar  way,  as  light  as  that  of  the 
laughing  Bob. 

When  off  duty  that  evening,  Bob  sought  his  club.  Since  the 
departure  of  Rose,  the  city  seemed  remarkably  empty,  and 
his  bubbling  spirits  demanded  companionship.  The  center  of 
interest  in  the  smoking  room  appeared  to  be  a  guest,  about 
whom  a  jovial  group  had  gathered.  Someone  called  to  Bob, 
and  he  was  introduced  to  M.  Lemoine,  who  greeted  him  with 
an  easy  and  polished  cordiality. 

"Don't  know  who  he  is,  really,  but  seems  to  be  a  gentleman," 
a  young  Lancer  informed  Robert.  "Count,  or  Baron,  or  some 
thing,  I  believe.  Rather  good  fun." 

Into  the  careless  conversation  someone  dropped  the  name 
of^the  Countess  Lurovich,  and  M.  Lemoine  broke  into  spark 
ling  smiles. 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  HONOUR  29 

"The  Countess!  Ah!  The  woman  glorious!  Of  a  charm,  I 
assure  you,  and  of  camaraderie  to  make  one  of  delight!  You  do 
not  know  her?  Then  I  shall  present  you!  At  once!  She  honours 
me  with  her  friendship,  and  her  friend's  friends  are  hers,  this 
so  wonderful  woman!" 

"Shall  we  try  it  on?"  the  Lancer  asked  aside,  grown  suddenly 
reserved. 

"Might  be  somethin'  of  a  lark,"  Bob  replied.    "I'm  for  it." 

"Right,  O!"  the  Lancer  acquiesced,  and  a  few  moments 
later  M.  Lemoine  was  gaily  conducting  a  small  party  from  the 
club. 

Robert  was  not  soon  to  forget^his  first  meeting  with  the 
woman  who,  moving  in  that  peculiar  world  which,  without  being 
of  it,  touches  garments  with  the  world  of  rank  and  fashion,  the 
doings  of  which  sway  thrones  and  trouble  nations,  but  concern 
ing  which  few  know  ought,  and  these  have  bought  knowledge 
with  sorrow.  In  a  burst  of  confidence,  a  Certain  Royal  Per 
sonage  had  once  described  the  Countess  as  the  most  fascinat 
ing  woman  hi  Europe,  and  the  one  most  desirable  to  avoid. 
On  the  latter  point  the  Certain  Personage  seemed  sadly  posi 
tive.  To  Robert,  aglow  with  youth  and  love  that  can  even  see  a 
diamond  in  a  bit  of  broken  glass  shining  in  the  gutter,  she  was 
simply  glorious — unknowingly,  he  was  adding  to  her  very  real 
charms  all  those  of  his  sweetheart. 

As  the  Countess  looked  into  his  eyes,  a  strange  thing  hap 
pened.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  this  woman,  for  whom  a 
hundred  men  had  broken  their  hearts,  and  suffered  shame,  and 
death,  felt  a  swift,  burning  thrill  of  passion,  and  the  flame  of 
it  wrapped  the  boy  as  in  a  garment.  But  even  as  she  shook 
with  new  emotion,  the  keen,  cold  brain  of  the  Countess  worked 
swiftly. 

"He  is  in  love  with  love,  and  some  girl,  not  you,"  it  whispered. 


30  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"You  must  bind  him  with  other  chains  than  those  of  a  momen 
tary  passion  due  to  chance  circumstance." 

"We  will  sit  here  a  while,  mon  ami,  and  become  acquainted," 
she  smiled,  and  led  the  way  to  a  screened  divan.  On  a  table 
within  easy  reach  were  glasses  and  liquors.  "Drink,  young  war 
rior,"  she  laughed,  and  sank  down  languidly,  motioning  for 
Robert  to  take  his  place  beside  her. 

And  the  most  fascinating  woman  in  Europe  exerted  herself 
as  never  before,  even  in  those  days  when  crowns  had  been 
pawns  in  her  games.  Also  the  liquors  were  potent,  and  Bob 
drank  deeply.  Suddenly  the  Countess  freed  herself  from  his 
embrace — the  game  was  fairly  in  the  snare,  but  the  trap  was 
not  yet  closed. 

"We  had  best  join  the  others,  now,"  she  said  softly.  "An 
other  time "  her  voice  trailed  into  a  silence  that  breathed 

promise.  "They  play  a  little  game,  for  friendship.  We  will 
try  our  fortunes,"  she  added,  and  Robert  followed,  dazedly, 
to  the  small  adjoining  room  from  which  came  the  whir  of  a 
roulette  wheel. 

;^"I  tell  you,  I  don't  want  to  play,"  Robert  declared  sullenly, 
but  the  Countess  pouted,  and  peevishly  he  placed  a  small  bet. 

"Welcome,  mon  brave!"  Lemoine  called  merrily.  "Behold, 
I  am — what  you  would  say? — run  this  game!"  And  he  spun 
the  wheel. 

Swiftly  the  lure  of  the  game  clutched  upon  Robert's  senses. 
His  stakes  became  larger.  The  hour  grew  late,  and  the  guests 
had  dwindled  to  a  handful.  The  young  lancer,  for  the  second 
time,  suggested  the  propriety  of  departure,  but,  when  Robert 
angrily  shook  his  head,  shrugged  and  went  away  alone.  Still 
the  wheel  spun  enticingly. 

Three  hours  later  Bob  awoke  as  from  a  fevered  dream,  and 
from  blood-shot  eyes  stared  at  Lemoine,  who  swiftly  ran  up  a 
column  of  penciled  figures. 


efifs  Liiroricli — Florence  Hackett. 


Rnse  Middlehurst—Je&nelte  Hackett. 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  HONOUR  31 

"Monsieur  owes  the  game  £3,800,"  he  said  quietly.  "Does 
he  wish  to  place  another  bet?" 

Bob  laughed  recklessly. 

"I'll  go  you  once  more,  just  to  see  if  the  luck  will  turn — my 
bet  is  two  hundred  pounds."  he  said. 

The  wheel  spun. 

"Monsieur  is  unfortunate  tonight,"  Lemoine  smiled-  "An 
other  occasion,  perhaps!  Meanwhile "  he  shrugged  slightly, 

and  offered  Robert  paper  and  fountain  pen — "Monsieur's  note 
of  demand  will  be  entirely  adequate." 

Almost  stupidly  Robert  took  the  proffered  pen  and  wrote 
an  I.  O.  U.,  payable  on  demand,  for  £4,000.  The  trap  had 
sprung. 

As  he  was  leaving,  the  Countess  Lurovich  whispered  in 
Robert's  ear: 

"Do  not  worry  for  the  little  debt — he  follows  my  commands, 

and  will  not  press  for  payment,  for  thou  art  to  be  my dear 

friend." 

The  Countess'  promise  that  the  debt  would  not  be  pressed 
was  to  Robert  like  a  reprieve  to  a  condemned  man,  and  his 
spirits  rose  instantly.  Gratitude  served  to  revive  his  failing 
interest  in  the  woman.  They  parted  silently,  but  her  eyes 
were  eloquent. 

The  "affair"  of  Robert  and  the  Countess  was  very  shortly 
the  subject  of  merry  jest  in  the  clubs,  and  news  of  it  presently 
reached  Cecil.  To  him  it  was  a  matter  of  crushing  bitterness. 
He  knew  that,  at  best,  it  would  end  in  misery,  for  both  Robert 
and  Rose,  and  possibly,  for  the  boy,  disgrace,  if  not  death. 
The  Count  Lurovich,  who  had  for  some  time  past  been  abroad, 
was  a  notorious  duelist,  a  dead  shot,  and  madly  jealous.  Of 
the  debt  Robert  had  incurred  Cecil  as  yet  knew  nothing.  As 
preliminary  to  any  action  toward  ending  the  affair,  Lord  Cecil 
arranged  that  he  be  presented  to  the  Countess.  During  his 


32  THE  BELOVED   ADVENTURER 

formal  call  no  reference  whatever  was  made  to  the  young 
Guardsman,  and  it  was  apparently  without  result.  Yet,  in 
subsequent  events,  it  was  of  tremendous  consequences,  for  he 
was  seen  by  Baron  von  Mayer  as  he  left  the  Countess'  house. 

Robert  had  already  sickened  of  the  affair,  and  impulsively, 
when  thoughts  of  Rose  had  grown  unbearable,  because  of  the 
shame  they  entailed,  he  hurried  to  the  Countess,  and  with 
boyish  brusqueness  blurted  out  the  truth. 

"There's  got  to  be  an  end  to  this — it  isn't  right  or  decent!" 
he  declared,  a  heavy  flush  upon  his  cheek. 

For  a  moment  the  Countess  was  shaken  by  astonishment 
and  fierce  anger,  but  her  clear  brain  still  whispered  cold  coun 
cil,  and  she  gained  a  momentary  control  of  her  emotions.  With 
all  the  wiles  of  an  actress  and  a  woman  she  strove  to  coax  him 
to  a  tender  mood,  but  when  all  had  failed  and  Robert  turned 
sullenly  away,  her  outraged  pride  burst  into  screaming  life. 
An  ornamental  dagger,  caught  up  from  a  nearby  table,  flashed 
in  the  air,  and  only  in  time  did  Lemoine,  wrho,  entering,  had 
paused  in  the  doorway,  spring  forward  and  catch  her  arm. 
Filled  with  disgust  of  the  woman  and  himself,  Robert  hurried 
away.  In  an  instant  the  Countess  became  calm,  but  it  was  a 
calm  more  menacing  than  her  rage. 

"Nevertheless  he  shall  die — but  first  shall  he  be  disgraced," 
she  said  softly.  "You,  Lemoine,  attend  my  orders." 

Later  the  same  evening  Robert  found  his  way  to  the  club, 
seeking  desperately  to  banish  from  his  mind  recollections  of 
the  past  week.  He  observed  but  avoided  Lord  Cecil,  who  sat 
alone,  with  blank  face,  lost  in  painful  meditation.  A  few  mo 
ments  later  Lemoine  entered  jauntily,  and  advanced  with 
friendly  smile  to  where  Robert  talked  with  a  group  of  officers. 
Carelessly  Lemoine  extracted  from  his  pocket  and  offered  a 
scrap  of  paper. 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  HONOUR  33 

"Will  Monsieur  be  so  kind  as  to  redeem  this  little  I.  O.  U.?" 
he  said,  and  the  low  tone  carried  all  over  the  room.  There  was 
an  uncomfortable  movement,  and  glances  of  displeasure.  In 
stinctively  Robert  put  out  his  hand,  but,  stammering  and 
miserable,  withdrew  it  without  touching  the  proffered  slip. 

Lemoine  raised  expressive  eyebrows. 

"Surely  Monsieur  does  not  intend  to  refuse  his  paper — a 
debt  of  honour?  He  does  not  desire  that  it  be,  what  you  would 
say,  protested  for  default?" 

Though  the  man  spoke  with  careful  courtesy,  his  eyes 
gleamed  with  malicious  triumph.  Lord  Cecil  rose  languidly, 
and  joined  the  group.  With  an  air  of  bored  indifference  he 
asked  the  amount  of  the  note,  and,  with  stiff  lips,  Robert 
whispered,  "Four  thousand  pounds." 

Among  the  uncomfortable  onlookers  there  was  a  start  of 
surprise,  but  Lord  Cecil  merely  nodded,  and  scribbling  a  check, 
handed  it  to  Robert,  and  strolled  away.  Robert,  with  white 
face,  passed  the  check  to  Lemoine,  and  received  the  I.  O.  U. 
That  he  was  bitterly  chagrined  Lemoine  concealed  with  ad 
mirable  skill.  Airily  expressing  regret  that  it  should  have  been 
necessary  to  trouble  one  for  so  trifling  a  matter,  he  took  his 
departure. 

The  next  afternoon  Lord  Cecil  received  from  Brownelowe 
&  Co.,  Ltd.,  Bankers,  a  statement  to  the  effect  that  his  draft 
for  £4,000  had  been  duly  cashed;  that,  as  per  instructions,  a 
mortgage  for  that  amount  had  been  added  to  the  encumbrance 
on  Croftlaigh  Manor,  and  that  the  total  value  of  all  remaining 
securities  in  the  bank's  hands  was  some  £2,000.  If  Lord  Cecil 
was  concerned,  it  was  not  apparent  from  his  bored  expression 
as  he  read  the  letter.  Securing  his  hat  and  cane,  he  started  to 
walk  to  Robert's  apartment. 

On  the  same  day,  the  Count  Lurovich  returned  to  London, 
and  within  an  hour  had  found  upon  his  wife's  dressing  table 


34  THE   BELOVED   ADVENTURER 

the  following  note,  composed  by  the  Countess  and  carefully 
forged  by  the  many-talented  Lemoine. 

MY  DARLING — 

I  will  call  you  that,  for  you  shall  be  mine,  and  I  cannot 
think  of  you  as  "the  Countess  Lurovich."  Despite  your  cold 
rebuffs,  I  adore  you,  and  will  yet  compel  your  love. 

THINE  ONLY,  ROBERT  STANLEY. 

The  Count  was  a  man  of  prompt  action.  Within  an  hour 
he  had  requested  the  assistance  of  Baron  von  Mayer,  and  that 
gentleman  had  presented  himself  at  Lieutenant  Stanley's 
rooms. 

F  Lord  Cecil  had  arrived  a  short  time  before,  and,  not  finding 
Robert,  had  decided  to  await  his  return.  Robert's  man  had 
gone  upon  an  errand,  and  it  was  Cecil  himself  who  opened  the 
door  to  Baron  von  Mayer's  knock. 

And  now  it  was  that  Cecil's  call  upon  the  Countess  Lurovich 
assumed  an  important  position.  The  Baron  addressed  himself 
to  Lord  Cecil  as  to  Lieutenant  Stanley,  and  delivered  the 
message  with  which  he  had  been  charged.  When  he  had  con 
cluded,  Cecil  bowed  gravely. 

"I  am  sure  that,  as  you  suggest,  a  little  trip  to  Fance  would 
prove  most  agreeable,"  he  said,  and  the  Baron  departed  highly 
pleased. 

"One  gets  so  out  of  practice,  y'know.    I  wonder "  Cecil 

remarked  aloud,  and  rummaged  until  he  had  unearthed  a 
heavy  service  revolver.  At  the  opposite  end  of  the  room  he 
placed  two  small  whiskey  glasses.  With  every  appearance  of 
carelessness  he  fired  twice  in  rapid  succession,  and  the  shattered 
glass  tinkled  upon  the  floor.  Lord  Cecil  smiled  faintly,  care 
fully  put  away  the  revolver,  and  was  about  to  leave  when 
Robert  entered, 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  HONOUR  35 

"No,  can't  stop  any  longer,"  he  replied  to  the  other's  con 
strained  invitation.  At  the  door  Cecil  hesitated,  and  coughed 
hesitantly. 

"You  might,  aw,  give  my  love  to  Rose  when  you  run  down 
to  see  her,  tomorrow,",  he  said,  "and,  er,  it  doesn't  do  one  any 
good  to  know  anything  one  doesn't  have  to,  y'know."  He 
stepped  through  the  door,  but  as  he  gently  closed  it,  he  added 
softly,  "An'  I  think  everything  will  come  out  right,  Bob,  if 
you  play  the  game." 

Late  the  following  afternoon  a  straggling  group  formed  in  a 
park-like  wood  on  the  coast  of  France.  With  gravity  a  space 
was  measured  upon  the  ground.  Lord  Cecil  smiled  gravely  at 
the  blue  sky,  then  lowered  his  eyes  to  meet  those  of  the  Count 
Lurovich,  and  in  them  read  deadly  hatred.  A  voice  counted 
slowly,  and  was  silent.  Lord  Cecil  raised  his  hand,  and  fired 
into  the  sky  at  which  he  had  smiled.  A  second  report  rang 
out,  and  Cecil  quietly  shifting  his  pistol  to  his  left  hand,  pressed 
a  handkerchief  to  a  spot  of  crimson  that  spread  swiftly  over 
his  breast.  Then  he  sank  slowly  to  the  firm,  green  sod. 

A  month  later  Lord  Cecil,  still  weak,  but  otherwise  recovered 
from  his  wound,  lay  upon  a  couch  in  the  shabby  rooms  on  Sax- 
ton  Square,  and,  with  some  satisfaction  visible  on  his  features, 
read  under  "Army  Notes"  the  following  paragraph: 

Lieut.  Robert  Stanley,  of  the  Horse  Guards,  has  at  his 
request  been  transferred  to  a  line  regiment  ordered  to  India, 
and  will  receive  a  Captain's  commission.  His  bride,  formerly 
Miss  Rose  Middlehurst,  will  accompany  him  to  his  new  station. 

As  Cecil  laid  aside  the  paper,  Robert  himself  entered.  Evi 
dently  he  had  nerved  himself  for  an  ordeal,  and  with  red-faced 
awkwardness  he  plunged  to  the  heart  of  the  matter,  but  Cecil 
interrupted  hastily. 


36  THE   BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"I  say — merest  trifle,  y'know;  wish  you  wouldn't  mention 
it,"  he  protested,  in  vast  discomfort.  "Everything  is  perfectly 
all  right,  so  long  as  Rose  knows  nothing  about  it.  On  her  ac 
count — I  couldn't  possibly  have  allowed  you  to  be  killed,  and 
it  semed  that  the  fellow  really  was  entitled  to  shoot  at  some 
one,  y'know!" 


IV 

AN  AMERICAN  HEIRESS 

Since  a  year  before,  when,  for  the  sake  of  his  family  honour, 
and  the  happiness  of  Rose  Middlehurst  and  his  nephew  Robert 
Stanley,  Lord  Cecil  had  made  good  the  young  officer's  reck 
lessly  incurred  obligations,  his  financial  affairs  had  gone  steadily 
from  bad  to  worse,  until  the  climax  of  annoyance  was  reached 
in  the  letter  which  he  now  held  in  his  hand. 

"My  Lord  Cecil,"  the  communication  ran;  "we  regret  to 
inform  Your  Lordship  that  your  account  is  overdrawn  by 
£610,  9s.  Your  Lordship's  only  remaining  property,  Croft- 
laigh  Manor,  is  mortgaged  to  the  limit.  As  your  agents,  we 
have  complied  with  the  insistent  demands  of  a  number  of  your 
creditors,  and  arranged  that  they  shall  call  upon  you  this 
morning,  to  effect,  if  possible,  a  settlement."  Followed  the 
signature  of  Messrs.  Brownelowe  and  Co.,  Ltd.,  Bankers. 

With  an  expression  of  infinite  boredom  Lord  Cecil  addressed 
the  faithful  James,  who,  with  the  skill  of  long  practice  wras 
engaged  in  repairing  a  ripped  seam  in  a  well-cut  but  equally 
well-worn  frock  coat. 

"A  number  of,  ah,  persons,  will  presently  present  themselves," 
he  said  wearily.  "You  will,  James,  upon  this  occasion,  admit 
them,  although,  as  your  discerning  eye  will  at  once  determine, 
they  will  be  those  banes  of  existence  known  as  Creditors.  Since 
Brownelowe  and  Company  have  seen  fit  to  arrange  an  inter 
view  for  them,  without  consulting  my  convenience,  I  appre 
hend  that  these  are  money-changers  of  importance  in  the  mar 
ket  place.  Kindly  restrain  your  natural  and  admirable  in 
stincts,  however,  James,  and  do  not  throw  them  down  the 
stair.  When  one  comes  to  consider  the  matter,  James,  it  ap- 

37 


38  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

pears  that  even  a  Creditor  may  not  unreasonably  expect  that 
he  be  given  some  assurance  that  he  may  at  some  time  receive 
his  money." 

James  stifled  a  heavy  sigh.  Times  were  indeed  out  of  joint 
when  the  only  nobleman  in  all  Britain,  who,  through  immemo 
rial  right,  might  address  the  King  as  "My  Lord,"  complacently 
received  importunate  trades-people.  Stain  upon  honour  there 
must  be,  and  as  that  of  his  master  was  beyond  the  possibil 
ity  of  such  a  thing,  James  felt  that  his  own  must  suffer  the 
reproach.  Sadly,  but  with  deftness,  he  arrayed  Lord  Cecil  in 
the  repaired  frock  coat,  and  opened  the  door  to  impatient 
knockers. 

Before  the  cold  courtesy  of  Lord  Cecil's  greeting  the  somewhat 
blustering  manner  of  the  visitors  swiftly  vanished.  Almost 
apologetically  the  spokesman  for  the  party  informed  him  that 
their  combined  claims  amounted  to  £5,000,  and  that  they 
needed  the  money. 

"Aw,  but  I  haven't  it,  y'know!"  My  Lord  Cecil  remarked 
dispassionately,  and  stared  vacantly  at  the  visitors,  who 
shuffled  uncomfortably,  but  made  no  helpful  suggestion.  An 
uneasy  pause  ensued  until,  with  the  air  of  one  who  makes  a 
satisfying  discovery  Cecil  announced  cheerfully: 

"By  Jove,  I  have  it!  I'll  marry  an  American  heiress,  y'know, 
and  pay  you  all.  I  give  you  my  word!" 

The  creditors  exchanged  glances  of  relief,  and  nodded  their 
admiration  at  His  Lordship's  brilliant  solution  of  the  problem. 

"That  will  be  most  agreeable,  Your  Ludship,"  the  spokesman 
declared.  "Your  Ludship  is  most  kind.  We  will  be  'appy  to 
await  Your  Ludship's  marriage,  though  we  venture  to  'ope  it 
will  not  be  long  before  the  'appy  occasion  takes  place." 

With  bows  the  visitors  moved  toward  the  door,  their  spirits 
much  improved,  but  were  brought  to  a  sudden  halt  by  Lord 
Cecil's  next  words. 


AN  AMERICAN  HEIRESS  39 

"But  I'll  need  funds  for  the  trip  to  America,  y'know,"  he 
suggested. 

Sorrowfully  the  creditors  exchanged  glances,  nodded,  and 
produced  rolls  of  banknotes.  James  disdainfully  accepted  the 
proffered  collection,  and  with  stern  glance  silenced  one  stout 
tradesman  who  muttered  in  his  throat  something  that  sounded 
like  "sending  good  money  after  bad." 

"Pack  at  once,  James,"  Lord  Cecil  directed  when  the  door 
had  closed  behind  the  departing  visitors,  and  cheerfully  lit  a 
cigarette. 

Two  weeks  later,  Thomas  M.  Harris,  Esq. — Old  Tom  Harris 
in  the  days  not  long  gone,  before  he  grasped  the  fact  that  three 
ounces  of  peanuts,  ten  ounces  of  selected  wheat  bran,  and 
three  ounces  of  cotton-seed  oil  make  a  pound  of  Al,  Extra 
Choice  Peanut  Butter — coatless  and  shoeless,  sat  in  the  ornate 
library  of  his  half-million  dollar  "cottage,"  and  chuckled  over 
the  comic  section  from  last  Sunday's  paper.  Upon  his  content 
ment  entered  Martha,  his  wife,  and  under  her  glare  of  horrified 
reproof  he  fumbled  on  his  coat  and  painfully  began  to  draw  on 
his  over-tight  shoes.  A  step  sounded  at  the  door,  and  Martha 
made  a  frantic  sign.  The  comic  paper  became  instantly  a  cur 
tain  for  the  unshod  foot  as  there  entered  a  gorgeously  liveried 
personage,  who  placed  newpapers  upon  the  reading  table  and 
majestically  withdrew.  Even  Martha  could  not  conceal  her 
awe,  and  Pa  Harris  sighed. 

"Can't  get  used  to  that  fellow  waitin'  on  me,  somehow," 
he  muttered.  "Always  feel  like  I  oughter  ask  him  to  have  a 
cigar  an'  a  drink." 

Mrs.  Harris  disdained  to  make  reply,  if  she  heard.  She  was 
already  devouring  the  "society  notes"  in  one  of  the  papers,  and 
now,  with  eager  interest  read  aloud : 


40  THE  BELOVfiD  ADVENTURER 


LORD  CECIL  COMES  A-WOOING 

There  is  much  excitement  in  high  society  over  the  arrival 
today  of  Lord  Cecil  of  England,  whose  famous  title  dates  from 
the  Norman  Conquest,  and  who  is  the  only  living  representa 
tive  of  his  distinguished  family,  through  the  male  line.  Lord 
Cecil,  who  has  the  unique  and  envied  hereditary  right  to 
address  the  King  as  "My  Lord,"  frankly  admits  that  he  is 
here  to  wed  an  American  heiress.  He  is  registered  at  the  Hotel 
Triumphant. 

With  breathless  eagerness  Mrs.  Harris  looked  at  her  husband, 
who,  it  must  be  admitted,  had  not  heard  a  word,  his  entire 
attention  being  given  those  tormenting  shoes,  and  with  mount 
ing  color,  and  a  happy  realization  that  at  last  she  had  the 
opportunity  to  use  the  line  which  she  had  so  much  admired  as 
it  sprang  from  the  lips  of  the  heroine  in  "How  Angeline  Won 
Her  Way,"  or,  "From  Chorus  Girl  to  Duchess,"  seen  at  the 
town  hall  in  Redbank,  twenty  years  before,  declared  trium 
phantly  : 

"This  is  the  chance  of  my  life!" 

"Aw  right,  Ma,"  Mr.  Harris  assented  uninterestedly,  and 
wistfully  handled  an  old  pipe. 

"Do  you  remember  the  English  Lord  we  met  when  we  were 
in  Baden — the  gentleman  who  straightened  things  out  for  you 
when  you  wanted  to  fight  the  waiter  because  you  thought  he 
was  giving  you  short  change,  when  he  was  only  holding  out  his 
tip?"  Mrs.  Harris  lowered  her  voice  impressively  as  she  added 
meaningly:  '"But  even  if  you  do  not,  I  do,  and  he  is  in  this 
country — has  come  to  marry  an  American  heiress!" 

"Well,  let  him.  I  don't  care,"  Pa  Harris  responded  indif 
ferently,  and  was  utterly  unaware  of  the  look  of  withering  scorn 
which  his  better  half  cast  upon  him  as  she  swept  to  a  desk  and 
began  the  careful  composition  of  a  note. 


AN  AMERICAN  HEIRESS  41 

Two  hours  later  there  was  delivered  to  Lord  Cecil  the  fol 
lowing  missive: 


MY  DEAR  LORD 

I  am  so  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  in  America,  because  you 
promised,  when  we  met  you  in  Baden,  last  year,  that  you 
would  visit  us  if  you  ever  came  to  this  country.  Let  me  know 
if  you  can  come,  for  as  long  as  you  will,  and  I'll  send  the  motor 
for  you  tomorrow  morning. 

Sincerely 
Mrs.  THOMAS  M.  HARRIS. 

"The  man  —  he  appears  a  very  proper  sort  of  footman,  My 
Lord  —  is  to  wait  for  an  answer,"  James  informed  his  master. 

"You  might  look  up  these  people,  at  all  events,  James," 
Cecil  suggested,  and  handed  over  the  note.  A  few  minutes 
later  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  discreet  cough,  and  he 
read  with  sudden  quickening  of  interest  the  paragraph  James 
pointed  out  in  a  volume  entitled  "Social  and  Financial  Regis 
ter." 

"Harris,  Thomas  M.  (The  Peanut  Butter  King'),"  the  item 
ran.  "Age  50.  Clubs:  Commercial  and  Wholsesale  Grocers'. 
Fortune  $5,000,000.  Wife,  Martha  Jane.  Daughter,  Mary, 
age  20,  sole  heiress." 

Lord  Cecil  nodded  with  satisfaction. 

"You  may  tell  the  man  they  may  send  the  motor,"  he  in 
structed  the  attentive  James. 

The  next  day's  sun  beamed  warmly,  and  the  flowers  of  the 
extensive  Harris  gardens  did  due  credit  to  the  expensive  im 
ported  gardner  and  his  nine  assistants,  but  neither  sunshine 
nor  flowers  could  coax  from  Mary  Harris  a  smile.  If  the  truth 
must  be  told,  she  was  pouting  sulkily,  and  stamping  her  small 
foot  upon  the  well-rolled  gravel.  Then  loud  hammerings  from 
the  "cottage"  in  course  of  construction  on  the  adjoining  plot 


42  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

attracted  her  attention — she  raised  her  violet  eyes — her  red 
lips  curled  into  joyousness,  and,  after  a  careful  look  about, 
she  waved  her  handkerchief.  The  distance  was  considerable, 
but  the  youth  with  blue-prints  in  his  hands  evidently  had 
sharp  eyes.  He  also  waved  his  hand,  and  hurried  toward  a 
certain  sheltered  nook,  which,  as  Mary  had  on  a  previous  occa 
sion  pointed  out,  possessed  the  strategic  advantage  of  allowing 
occupants  thereof  to  command  a  clear  view  of  the  Harris 
castle  while  they  themselves  were  safely  invisible. 

They  met  in  what  seems  to  be  the  accepted  manner  of  lovers' 
meetings,  in  sheltered  nooks.  Presently  Mary  freed  herself  and 
with  tragic  eyes  and  trembling  lips  whispered  the  dread  tidings. 

"Mother  is  going  to  marry  me  to  a  horrid  old  Lord!"  she 
said. 

Horror  banished  the  smile  from  Tom's  face.  He  blanched, 
but  heroically  rose  to  the  occasion. 

"Fear  not!  I  will  save  you!"  he  cried,  with  a  very  creditable 
imitation  of  the  hero  in  Broadway's  latest  romantic  success. 

Mary  pouted. 

"Don't  be  silly,"  she  said  ungraciously.  "You  know  you 
can't  do  anything — you  are  too  poor." 

In  sorrow  he  bowed  his  head. 

"You're  dead  right — not  a  chance!"  he  groaned.  "Might  get 
by  the  old  gentleman — he  knows  a  fellow  doesn't  have  to  stay 
poor — but  your  mother!  No  hope  at  all!" 

"But  you  know  I  will  always  be  true?"  Mary  demanded. 
This  acceptance  of  defeat  seemed  tame. 

"Will  you?"  he  asked  eagerly,  and  somewhat  pettishly  Mary 
nodded.  Just  then,  however,  a  slight  confusion,  a  scurrying  of 
liveried  servants,  and  a  stopping  motor  attracted  her  eyes  to 
the  front  of  the  palatial  cottage.  An  excited  flush  sprung  into 
her  cheeks,  and  unconsciously  her  hands  flew  to  her  slightly 
disordered  hair. 


AN  AMERICAN  HEIRESS  43 

"Gracious!  He's  come!"  she  said,  and  with  scant  adieus 
hurried  away. 

"Oh,  adored  but  fickle  heart!"  Tom  murmured.  Just  then 
he  observed  that  he  was  standing  upon  his  blue  prints,  and 
hastily  picked  them  up,  carefully  smoothing  out  the  creases. 
He  looked  at  his  watch.  "Great  Scott!"  he  whistled,  and 
swiftly  returned  to  his  labors. 

A  week  later  there  was  published  the  announcement  of  the 
engagement  of  Miss  Mary  Harris  to  Lord  Cecil  of  England. 
The  social  aspirations  of  Mrs.  Harris  and  the  financial  needs  of 
the  groom  to  be  had  combined  to  bring  the  affair  to  a  climax 
with  beautiful  directness. 

On  the  same  day,  Lord  Cecil  stood  looking  from  his  bedroom 
window.  His  range  of  vision  included  a  garden  nook  well 
screened  from  every  other  direction.  He  could  see  with  unmis 
takable  clearness  that  the  girl,  weeping  bitterly  and  clinging 
about  the  neck  of  a  young  gentleman  of  tragic  mien  was  his 
promised  bride. 

"Really,  y'know — can't  have  that  sort  of  thing!"  Cecil  re 
marked  thoughtfully.  "By  Jove!  It  looks  as  though  the  little 

girl '  The  sentence  remained  unfinished  and  he  hurried 

from  the  room. 

As  Cecil  came  upon  them,  the  young  couple  drew  quickly 
apart,  but  Mary  faced  him  defiantly. 

"I  don't  care!"  she  asserted,  while  tears  formed  slowly  in  the 
violet  eyes.  "I  love  Tom,  and  he  is  going  to  Brazil,  and  I 
don't  want  to  marry  you,  and  I  will  die  of  a  broken  heart,  I 
know  I  will!" 

For  a  few  moments  Lord  Cecil  pondered  gravely,  then,  with 
a  cheerful  smile  hurried  away,  first  telling  them  to  await  his 
return.  Mary,  between  fright  and  grief,  just  sniffled.  Tom 
sullenly  and  uncomfortably  shuffled  his  feet.  They  edged  away 
from  one  another. 


44  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

Between  Thomas  M.  Harris  and  Lord  Cecil  there  had  devel 
oped  a  real,  though  unspoken  friendship — each  had  rightly 
seen  into  the  heart  of  the  other.  Harris,  however,  was  for  a 
moment  bewildered  when  Cecil,  finding  him  alone,  made  the 
unique  suggestion  that  had  come  into  his  mind. 

"You  mean  you  don't  want  to  marry  Mary?"  Harris  de 
manded. 

"My  wishes  need  not  be  considered.  It  is  Mary's  happiness 
that  is  in  question.  I,  aw,  did  not  know  that  she  was  in  love 
with  any  one,"  Cecil  said  gently. 

Harris  extended  a  rugged  hand,  and  his  voice  shook. 

"Shake,  sir!"  he  said.  "By  George,  sir,  knowin' — I  found 
out — how  you  need  money,  I'm  bound  to  say  you  are  a  white 
man!  By  Gum,  sir,  I'm  willin' — yes,  I  wiU,  call  you  M'Lord 
after  this!" 

Cecil  writhed  in  acute  embarrassment — internally.  His 
face  gave  no  sign. 

"As  to  your  suggestion,  I'm  afraid  it  won't  work,"  Harris 
remarked  thoughtfully.  "I  know  that  boy — he's  all  right — 
but  Martha  is  set  on  bein'  mother-in-law  to  a  Lord,  and  she 
is  terrible  set  when  she  is  set.  However,  maybe  if  you  suggest 
it  she  will  take  to  it.  Let's  get  the  children  and  see  which  way 
the  cat  jumps." 

It  was  a  constrained  little  party  that  presently  found  itself 
in  the  commanding  presence  of  Mis.  Harris.  Lord  Cecil 
plunged  to  the  heart  of  the  subject. 

"Mary,  y'know,  would  prefer  to  marry  this  gentleman,"  he 
said,  indicating  the  restless  Tom.  "We  might  just  let  him  take 
my  place  at  the  wedding  next  week,  don't  you  think?" 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Harris  was  stricken  dumb  with  amaze 
ment — but  only  for  a  moment.  Then  it  became  most  clear  that 
she  did  not  think  the  suggested  substitution  of  grooms  in  the 
slightest  degree  desirable.  Weeping,  Mary  sought  her  own 


AN  AMERICAN  HEIRESS  45 

room.  Sullen  and  obviously  frightened,  Tom  departed.  Mrs. 
Harris  assured  Lord  Cecil  that  he  had  a  noble  heart,  but  that 
he  should  not  attach  so  much  importance  to  Mary's  words — 
that  she  was  a  foolish  girl  who  didn't  know  what  was  good  for 
her.  Very  courteously  Lord  Cecil  agreed. 

A  few  days  later  a  startled  world — to  borrow  a  phrase  from 
the  paper  which  covered  its  entire  front  page  with  two  photo 
graphs  and  forty-two  words — learned  that  the  heiress  to  the 
countless  millions  of  the  Peanut  Butter  King  had  jilted  an 
English  Lord  and  had  eloped  with  one  Tom,  who — principally, 
it  appeared,  was  an  American — that  was  the  important 
point!  Right  out  from  the  grasping  clutches  of  the  impover 
ished  and  effete  aristocracy  of  Europe  had  this  brave  youth 
snatched  the  prize!  The  Eagle  screamed  in  triumph.  All  of 
which  the  wrathful  and  weeping  Mrs.  Harris  believed,  but  Pa 
Harris  had  his  doubts.  It  was  a  great  write-up,  but  what  a 
story  it  would  have  made  had  the  reporter  only  gotten  the 
facts:  how  Lord  Cecil  neatly  kidnapped  his  own  fiancee,  and 
deposited  her,  to  her  amazement  and  Tom's  alarm  in  the  lat 
ter 's  arms  as  he  was  about  to  board  the  steamer  that  would 
take  him  far  away;  how  he  had  thoughtfully  provided  a  mar 
riage  license  and  minister,  and  how,  almost  as  the  gangplank 
was  being  pulled  away,  he  had  put  into  their  timid  souls  the 
courage  to  seize  their  happiness,  and  the  item  that  Mary  had 
kissed  him  in  a  manner  that  made  him  momentarily  regret 
that  he  was  not  the  right  man — that  would  have  been  a  story 
worth  reading! 

Two  days  afterward  Lord  Cecil,  back  in  his  apartment  at 
the  Hotel  Triumphant,  read,  with  a  blankly  startled  expression 
the  following  cablegram: 

News  failure  your  marriage  great  disappointment  creditors. 
Have  arranged  mortgage  on  Croftlaigh  Manor  be  not  fore- 


46  THE   BELOVED   ADVENTURER 

closed  for  one  month.    Can  you  marry  some  other  heiress  be 
fore  that  time? 

BROWNELOWE  AND  Co.,  LTD. 

Rather  slowly  he  put  aside  the  cablegram.  In  the  back 
ground  the  faithful  James  shook  his  head  as  he  examined  the 
few  coins  remaining  in  the  familiar,  battered  cash-box,  and 
with  gloomy  foreboding  picked  up  a  worn  leather  jewel  case. 

"These,  soon,"  he  thought. 

Suddenly  Ix>rd  Cecil  laughed. 

"I  forgot  all  about  needin'  the  bally  fortune,  y'know!"  he 
said. 


Mary   Harris — Ruth  Hryan. 


Lord  Cecil — Arthur  V.  Johnson. 


V 
THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  WEST 

The  Landlord  of  the  Palace  Hotel  gazed  with  open  admira 
tion  at  his  more  or  less  permanent  guest  and  intermittent 
friend — their  friendship  being  subject  to  sudden  and  violent 
lapses  through  conflicting  claims  to  lootable  strangers — then 
rolled  his  eyes  about  the  empty  bar  and  office  as  though  col 
lecting  the  attention  of  a  scattered  crowd. 

"Which  I  am  bound  to  remark,"  he  affirmed,  "is  that  this 
here  Monte  is  a  honor  to  the  State,  and  a  plumb  genius!  The 
drinks  is  on  the  house,"  he  added  largely,  and  fumbled  among 
the  bottles. 

"Here's  something  special,  Monte,"  he  said,  and  set  a  full 
and  sealed  quart  of  rye  before  the  other  man.  "Open  her  up,"  he 
continued,  as  he  produced  a  second  bottle  from  beneath  the  bar; 
"I'll  stick  to  the  old  stuff — cheaper,  an'  good  'nough  for  me." 

Mr.  Carson  regarded  him  with  cold  displeasure. 

"I  reckon  I'll  drink  the  same  thing  you  do,  Baylor,"  he  re 
marked. 

Mr.  Baylor  appeared  hurt. 

"Why,  you  can  see  for  yourself  she's  bottled  in  bond  stuff — 
arid  the  seal  ain't  broke,"  he  protested. 

Mr.  Carson  smiled. 

"Son,"  he  said  grimly,  "if  you  ain't  careful,  I'll  feel  insulted. 
Why,  I  was  the  man  that  invented  that  trick — drillin'  a  hole 
big  enough  for  a  hyperdermic  needle  in  the  bottom  of  a  sealed 
bottle.  I  used  to  plug  the  hole  with  a  glass  bead  of  the  right 
color,  stuck  with  shellac — looked  like  a  air-bubble  in  the  glass." 

"You  know  I  wouldn't  try  anything  on  a  pal,  Monte,"  Mr. 
Baylor  replied  reproachfully. 

47 


48  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"No,  you  wouldn't,  'specially  when  you  knew  he  was  packin' 
a  roll  big  enough  to  bank  a  game  like  I'm  going  to  open  up," 
Mr.  Carson  retorted  unkindly. 

The  landlord  hastily  changed  the  subject. 

"Takin'  Betty  with  you  on  this  here  war-path?"  he  asked. 

"Sometimes,"  Mr.  Carson  said  dreamily,  "I  think  this  Bay 
lor  person  is  a  fool,  an'  then  again  I  allow  he  ain't — he's  just  a 
idiot.  Would  a  man  go  fishin'  and  not  take  his  bait  along?" 

"Well,  you're  playin'  your  own  hand,  Monte,  but  seems  to 
me  you'll  get  it  tipped  off  if  you  ain't  careful.  It's  seemed  to 
me,  here  lately,  that  Betty  was  beginnin'  to  get  wise>  just  a 
little.  I  don't  believe  she'd  like  it  much  if  she  knew  she  was 
bein'  used  as  a  decoy — these  here  young  female  girls  is  peculiar, 
that-a-way,"  the  landlord  warned. 

"When  this  trip  is  over,  I  won't  care  how  wise  she  gets,  or 
how  she  likes  it,"  Carson  declared.  "I'm  going  to  make  it  a 
hog-killin'." 

The  scheme  which  had  stirred  Mr.  Baylor  to  open  admiration 
was,  like  all  master-moves,  most  simple.  Mr.  Monte  Carson, 
professional  gambler  and  confidence  man,  had  grown  impatient 
at  the  infrequency  with  which  Eastern  tourists,  investors  and 
other  moneyed  and  credulous  citizens  drifted  to  the  web  he 
had  spun  for  their  reception  at  Salt  Springs,  Nevada. 

"It's  like  sittin'  on  a  rock,  waitin'  for  game  to  come  up  an' 
ask  to  be  shot,"  he  complained  to  himself.  Then  the  Great 
Idea  dawned  in  his  mind.  "Do  you  sit  around  an'  wait  when  you 
want  meat?"  he  demanded,  and  answered  himself  with  a  de 
cided  negative.  "No,  sir,  you  go  look  for  it  where  it  lives!" 

Wrherefore,  Mr.  Carson  was  going  hunting  in  those  fields 
where  his  particular  game  grew  fattest  and  was  most  numerous. 
He  was  going  to  New  York.  And  the  stage  that  left  Salt  Springs 
on  the  day  he  had  disclosed  his  plan  to  Mr.  Baylor  bore  him 
and  Betty  toward  the  East. 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE   WEST  49 

Betty!  But  how  tell  of  her?  You  have  seen  the  little  wind- 
flowers,  the  first  of  all  to  dare  the  fickle  Spring;  or  a  wild  rose 
just  unclosing  its  fragile  blossom;  or  a  young  rock-maple, 
slender,  with  the  buds  just  bursting,  swaying  in  the  gentler 
winds?  To  these  and  other  things  of  beauty  and  fragrance 
had  many  men  of  hard  lives  likened  her  in  their  hearts,  and  for 
borne  word  or  deed  that  would  have  brought  a  shadow  to  her 
wistful  but  softly  smiling  eyes.  A  cowboy,  back  from  town, 
would  ride  into  a  round-up  camp  far  out  on  the  ranges,  and 
when  the  pipes  were  lighted  and  the  men  settled  about  the 
flickering  fire,  would  say,  "I  seen  her.  She  smiled,  an'  said 
'Howdy,'  an'  rid  on  over  the  hill."  Whereupon  his  comrades 
looked  upon  him  with  something  of  envy  and  something  of 
respect,  as  it  were  in  the  East  and  a  man  said,  "I  have  looked 
upon  such  and  such  a  shrine."  Such  was  Betty,  just  at  the  dawn 
of  womanhood;  an  alien  waif  in  this  crude  land  whose  lonely 
little  heart  beat  proudly  and  unafraid;  in  whose  veins,  though 
she  did  not  know,  there  flowed  the  daring  blood  of  gallant 
Cavaliers  who  had  ridden  gaily  to  death  on  an  hundred  hope 
less  fields. 

It  was  on  the  same  day  that  Carson  and  Betty  left  Nevada, 
that  Lord  Cecil  of  England  set  foot  upon  the  soil  of  America. 
The  Master  Dramatist,  Fate,  was  bringing  up,  ready  for  their 
entrances  upon  the  stage,  the  characters  who  were  to  play 
together  the  strange  drama  called  Life. 

To  Cecil,  not  a  few  matters  were  seeming,  just  at  this 
time,  to  be  of  considerable  consequence  and  decidedly 
annoying.  His  failure  to  marry  the  American  heiress  had 
roused  his  creditors  to  relentless  action,  and  he  was  quite 
without  funds.  All  other  resources  having  been  exhausted,  he 
faced  the  humiliating  necessity  of  selling  what  remained  of  his 


50  THE   BELOVfiD   ADVENTURER 

family  jewels.  Even  as  he  gloomily  pondered  the  situation,  the 
faithful  James  admitted  to  the  apartment  of  the  Hotel  Tri 
umphant  which  Cecil  still  occupied,  the  agent  of  a  famous 
establishment.  While  the  jeweler  examined  the  contents  of 
the  case  set  before  him,  James  departed  upon  an  errand,  so 
that  none  observed  how  lingered  the  waiter  who  entered  to 
remove  a  luncheon  tray,  or  how  his  eyes  gleamed  with  greedy 
cunning  as  the  jeweler  finished  his  examination  and  produced 
a  checkbook. 

"We  will  give  $25,000  for  the  lot,  My  Lord,"  the  dealer  said, 
and  Cecil  nodded  in  a  manner  of  bored  indifference. 

Very  shortly  afterward  the  waiter  slipped  away  from  the 
hotel  and  hurried  to  a  somewhat  shabby  boarding  house  not 
far  distant.  Here  he  found  Carson,  to  whom  he  hastily  related 
his  news.  For  a  few  moments  Carson  pondered  craftily,  then 
nodded. 

"Very  well,  if  you  think  it  is  a  good  chance,  we'll  go  for  him. 
I'd  kinder  like  to  bag  a  British  Lord,  any  way;  regular  big 
game  he'd  be.  We'll  try  the  gold  mine  scheme — it's  safe,  be 
cause  we  really  got  a  hole  in  the  ground  to  issue  stock  on,  and 
an  Englishman  '11  fall  for  a  gold  mine  quicker  'an  anything  else. 
You  tip  off  the  other  boys  and  keep  an  eye  on  your  bird.  I'll 
do  my  part,  you  can  bet  your  bottom  dollar!" 

The  waiter  departed  and  Carson  knocked  at  and  then  opened 
the  door  to  an  adjoining  room.  Betty  looked  up  a  little  appre 
hensively  as  he  entered.  There  was  upon  his  face  an  expression 
she  had  begun  to  vaguely  distrust. 

"I  want  you  to  help  me  in  a  little  deal,  Betty,"  he  said.  "It'll 
be  a  barrel  o'  fun  for  you.  There's  an  Englishman  I  want  to 
sell  a  mine  to.  It's  a  good  mine  an'  cheap  at  the  price  I'm  will 
ing  to  sell  for,  but  these  Englishmen  have  been  fed  up  on  won 
derful  stories  about  this  country  until  a  plain,  business  prop 
osition  don't  wake  'em  up  long  enough  to  sign  a  check.  They 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  WEST  51 

got  to  have  a  lot  o'  romance — seem  to  think  a  nice  romantic 
story  better  'an  a  certified  assay  and  survey." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  the  girl  asked,  and  her  eyes 
were  troubled. 

"Oh,  nothin'  much,"  Carson  assured  her  lightly,  and  in  in 
different  manner  outlined  the  part  she  was  to  play. 

"I— I  don't  like  it,  Monte,"  Betty  said  slowly.  "It  looks- 
queer.  I've  been  thinking  lately,  about  some  of  the  deals  I've 
helped  you  with,  and  they  haven't  seemed — square.  I  don't 
wish  to  go  into  this!" 

With  considerable  effort  Carson  controlled  his  anger,  and 
assumed  the  air  of  one  deeply  hurt. 

"All  right,  Betty,"  he  responded,  and  his  voice  was  dull 
with  reproach.  "It  is  a  square  game,  but  never  mind.  Why, 
you  talk  like  you  think  I  ain't  honest!  But  I  won't  urge  you — 
just  leave  it  to  your  owTn  feelings.  You  wTon't  help  me  now — 
but  /  took  you  when  nobody  else  would,  and  I  have  raised  you 
the  best  that  I  could." 

The  reproach  cut  deep  into  the  heart  of  the  sensitive  girl. 
After  all,  she  had  no  proof  of  her  suspicions,  and,  she  owed 
much  to  this  man.  The  room  in  which  they  stood  seemed  to 
fade  away,  and  she  saw  a  rugged  land  of  hills  and  water-worn 
gulches,  and  the  raw  gash  of  crude  mining  operations.  Near  a 
ragged  tent  several  rough  miners  were  carelessly  completing 
the  filling  of  a  grave.  To  one  side,  a  small  girl,  weeping  miser 
ably,  was  trying  to  make  a  bundle  of  a  few  poor  belongings. 
With  a  pitying  catch  in  her  throat,  Betty  realized  that  this 
child  was  she.  Into  the  scene  there  came  a  jaunty  horseman, 
and  to  him  the  miners  explained  that  they  had  found  this 
prospector  all  cashed  in  and  had  planted  him,  and  were  ready 
to  go  their  ways.  No,  they  hadn't  figured  out  what  was  to 
become  of  the  kid — they  couldn't  pack  her  along  with  them — 
why  didn't  he  take  her,  if  he  was  so  particularly  concerned? 


52  THE  BELOVfiD  ADVENTURER 

Whereupon  the  jaunty  horseman  looked  at  the  pretty  child  in 
speculative  manner,  nodded,  spoke  kindly,  and  lifted  her  to 
the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  and  the  child  sobbed  her  gratitude 
against  his  breast.  And  through  the  years  that  had  followed,  he 
had  been  kind,  in  his  way,  and  had  raised  her  the  best  he  could 
— far  better,  in  fact,  in  the  matter  of  schools  and  clothing  than 
the  other  girls  she  had  known.  Surely  he  had  a  right  to  com 
mand  some  return. 

Betty  looked  up  with  tear-dimmed  eyes. 

"I'll  do  it,  Monte,"  she  said  simply. 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't  go  back  on  an  old  friend,  Betty," 
Carson  replied,  concealing  the  relief  and  satisfaction  he  felt. 
"Just  you  dress  up  like  I  told  you,  an'  it'll  all  be  dead  easy,  an' 
like  I  said,  a  barrel  o'  fun." 

The  next  day  Lord  Cecil  went  for  a  stroll  in  the  park,  his 
mind  more  at  ease  than  it  had  been  for  some  time.  With  the 
$25,000  he  could  at  least  meet  the  demands  of  his  more  pressing 
creditors,  or,  in  this  land  of  opportunity  and  quick  fortunes 
he  could  probably  use  it  as  capital  for  investment  and  soon 
acquire  enough  to  pay  all  his  debts.  These  reflections  were  cut 
short  by  a  woman's  scream,  and  Cecil  looked  ahead  to  see  a 
girl  struggling  in  the  grasp  of  two  men,  who  strove  to  force 
her  into  a  closed  taxicab.  As  the  girl's  cry  for  help  again  rang 
out,  Cecil  sprang  forward — there  was  a  brief  conflict,  the  two 
ruffians  sprang  into  the  cab,  which  sped  away,  and  Cecil  found 
himself  supporting  a  slender  form. 

"Oh,  will  you  protect  me?"  the  girl  begged  piteously. 

"Now,  everything  is  perfectly  all  right,"  Cecil  said  sooth 
ingly,  and  led  her  to  a  seat.  "What  were  those  brutes  up  to?" 

An  imp  of  mischief  danced  in  the  eyes  that  Betty  kept  care 
fully  veiled  by  lowered  and  silky  lashes.  Despite  her  uneasy 
conscience,  she  was  beginning  to  enjoy  the  game.  She  sighed 
with  tragic  intensity. 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE   WEST  53 

"It  is  but  a  part  of  the  base  conspiracy  to  rob  my  poor 
father  of  his  fortune!"  she  said  sadly,  and  stole  a  glance  from 
the  corner  of  her  eye. 

Lord  Cecil  was  interested,  there  was  no  doubt  of  that.  Had 
she  remarked  that  she  expected  to  have  roast  beef  for  dinner 
he  would  have  been  interested,  because  it  was  she  who  said  it, 
but  this  he  did  not  yet  realize. 

Betty  felt  the  thrill  of  the  artist  inspired  to  do  a  perfect 
thing,  and,  with  growing  enthusiasm  she  told  a  wonderful 
tale — of  her  poor  father,  who  had  discovered  two  wonderfully 
rich  mines;  how,  because  he  would  not  sell  them  for  a  song,  he 
was  falsely  accused  of  crime;  how,  having  no  money  to  defend 
himself  in  the  bribed  courts,  they  had  been  forced  to  flee;  how 
they  had  hoped  to  sell  one  of  the  mines  and  thus  -squire  ready 
money  to  protect  the  father  and  develop  the  other  mine — 
the  one  would  yield  quite  as  large  a  fortune  as  they  desired; 
how  the  father,  ill,  did  not  dare  go  forth  to  attempt  to  make  a 
sale,  the  villains  being  close  upon  their  track.  She  concluded 
abruptly,  and  stole  another  glance  at  Cecil.  And  she  saw  that 
he  had  believed  her. 

'  Ton  my  word!    Quite  extraordinary,  y'know!"  he  gasped. 

"And  now  I  must  go,"  Betty  said,  and  rose  totteringly. 
"Goodbye." 

"But  you  can't,  y'know,  really!"  Cecil  protested  earnestly. 
"Those  chaps  may  be  lurkin'  about  somewhere.  May  n't  I 

"You  are  good,  and  brave 1  would  like  you  to,"  Betty 

said  softly,  and  leaned  upon  his  arm  as  he  led  her  away. 

Without  adventure  they  reached  the  boarding  house,  and  Cecil 
required  no  urging  to  meet  and  be  thanked  by  the  poor  father. 

"I  wouldn't  mind  so  much,  if  it  wan't  for  Betty,"  Carson 
said  with  touching  effect,  after  he  had  wrung  Cecil's  hand  in 
gratitude.  "But  it  is  hard  on  her,  poor  little  girl,  this  hiding 
hi  miserable  hovels  when  she  might  be  in  a  palace — and  you 


54  THE   BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

see  that  even  she  is  in  danger.  If  they  didn't  follow  so  close, 
I  could  get  out  and  sell  one  of  the  mines,  and  with  the  money 
fix  everything  all  right — either  mine  is  enough  for  me,  anyhow- 
worth  a  million." 

Lord  Cecil  heard  but  vaguely.  His  eyes  had  been  fixed  on 
Betty  with  a  look  that  had  caused  her  to  turn  quickly  away, 
suddenly  shamed  and  confused,  but  with  a  strange  happiness 
dawning  in  her  heart.  Moreover,  he  was  pondering  a  great 
idea,  and  it  exploded  in  words. 

"By  Jove,  I  have  it!  I'll  buy  one  of  the  mines,  y'know,  if 
I  have  enough  money!" 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Carson  concealed  his  elation. 
Betty  half  started  from  her  chair,  a  protest  upon  her  lips,  but 
at  Carson's  look  of  stern  reproach  she  sank  back  speechless. 
The  amount  which  Cecil  could  pay  appeared  a  great  disap 
pointment  to  Mr.  Carson,  but  ten  minutes  later  he  had,  in 
return  for  a  check  for  $25,000,  properly  endorsed,  handed  over 
the  entire  capital  stock  of  the  "Golden  Hope"  mine.  Within 
half  an  hour  after  Cecil's  departure,  the  check  had  been  cashed. 

Very  early  the  following  morning  Mr.  Monte  Carson,  in  whose 
pocket  there  nestled  a  thick  packet  of  yellow  bills,  and  Betty 
in  whose  heart  was  an  aching  pain,  and  from  whose  eyes  the 
smile  had  gone,  leaving  only  the  wistfulness,  boarded  a  train 
destined  for  the  far  West. 

Later  in  the  same  day,  Lord  Cecil,  with  somewhat  rueful 
expression,  read  the  following  concise  epistle: 

BROWN  AND  COMPANY 

MINING  STOCK  BROKERS 

Lord  Cecil,  NEW  YORK 

Sir: 

Telegraphic  inquiry  develops  the  fact  that  the  "Golden 
Hope"  mine  is  worthless.  We  can,  therefore,  secure  no  loan 
on  your  stock.  Very  truly, 

BROWN  AND  COMPANY 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  WEST  55 

Cecil  put  aside  the  letter  and  lighted  a  cigarette.  As  he 
smoked,  he  pondered,  and  a  great  light  seemed  suddenly  to 
break  upon  him. 

"By  Jove!  I  believe  that  whole  story  was  a  jolly,  y'know," 
he  said  aloud.  "But  she  was  certainly  a  rippin'  little  girl!"  he 
added  tenderly. 

A  few  days  later  Betty  sat  upon  a  rock,  with  wistful  eyes 
that  stared  unseeingly  across  the  lonely  Nevada  hills,  toward 
the  East,  and  the  ache  in  her  heart  was  very  sore. 

"He  will  think  of  me  only  to  despise  me,"  she  whispered 
sadly,  "and — I  will  never  see  him  again." 

In  his  apartment  in  the  Hotel  Triumphant,  Lord  Cecil  also 
was  dreaming,  of  the  little  girl  who  had  come  out  of  the  West. 
He  sighed.  James,  with  troubled  brow  and  hesitant  manner 
came  slowly  forward.  His  master  raised  his  eyes  questioningly. 

"There  are  several  accounts  presented,  and  the  cash-box  is 
quite  empty,"  the  man  said  gravely.  "What  shall  I  do,  My 
Lord?" 

Lord  Cecil  stared  blankly. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  James,"  he  said.  "By  Jove,  I  don't!" 


VI 

THE  GOLDEN  HOPE 

Lord  Cecil,  in  his  apartment  in  the  Hotel  Triumphant,  was 
writing  a  letter. 

"Dear  old  chap,"  it  ran.  "Thanks  for  the  marmalade — 
they  really  can't  make  it  in  this  country — most  extraordinary! 

"I  rather  think  I  have  been  done.  Bought  a  mine,  which  a 
broker  person  tells  me  is  worthless,  but  met  a  ripping  little  girl. 
It  leaves  me  flat  broke,  so  am  going  West  to  dig  some  gold; 
deuced  bother." 

Cecil  paused,  then  added: 

"Am  sending  this  by  James — you  might  give  him  a  situa 
tion.  He  presses  trousers  quite  fairly." 

The  letter  was  addressed  and  sealed  as  James  entered  the 
room. 

"You  will  take  this  letter  to  the  Prince,  James,"  his  master 
said,  and,  because  of  a  lifetime  of  training,  the  face  of  the 
servant  gave  no  sign  of  the  grief  that  sprang  into  his  heart. 
The  faithful  dog  that  has  followed  his  master  over  weary  roads 
and  is  suddenly  bade  begone  has  not  the  art  to  keep  from  his 
eyes  the  hurt  and  despair,  as  had  James. 

"Very  well,  My  Lord,"  he  said  quietly.  "There  is  a  steamer 
sailing  tomorrow',  My  Lord." 

"You  will  need  passage  money,  James,  and  the  hotel  bill 
must  be  settled,  and  I'll  want  some  money  myself,  for  railway 
fare  to  the  West,"  Cecil  said,  and  his  thoughtfulness  provoked 
an  anxious  glance  from  his  man.  "Take  all  the  studs  an'  links, 
an'  er,  things,  that  you  can  find  and  get  what  you  can — a 
hundred  pounds  I  should  fancy  they  will  bring — from  some 
pawn-shop  place,  y'know." 
56 


THE   GOLDEN  HOPE  57 

"Yes,  My  Lord,"  James  responded,  and  went  softly  about 
the  task. 

Early  the  next  morning  Lord  Cecil  boarded  the  same  train 
that,  a  few  days  before  had  borne  back  to  the  golden  West  the 
girl  who  had  brought  upon  him  dire  misfortune,  but  who  had 
left  her  picture  in  his  heart. 

To  Betty,  the  thought  of  the  part  she  had  played  in  the  de 
spoilment  of  the  clear-eyed,  kindly  stranger,  was  a  haunting 
shame  from  which  she  could  not  escape,  for  she  now  fully 
understood — and  the  understanding  marked  the  day  when  the 
bud  of  girlhood  became  the  perfect  blossom  of  womanhood — 
the  degredation  that  had  been  put  upon  her,  in  that  her  youth 
and  sex  had  been  used,  through  an  appeal  to  all  that  was  most 
brave  and  kind  in  his  nature,  to  decoy  to  his  ruin  that  man  who 
would  not  believe  that  a  girl  might  lie. 

Mr.  Monte  Carson's  return  had  been  that  of  a  conqueror. 
Had  he  not  penetrated  to  the  very  heart  of  the  enemy's  country 
and  returned  laden  with  loot?  Wherefore  he  celebrated  vari 
ously,  and  no  small  part  of  Lord  Cecil's  $25,000  slipped  through 
his  careless  fingers.  Very  shortly,  however,  his  business  in 
stincts  reasserted  themselves,  and  he  was  now  engaged  in  a 
determined  effort  to  repossess  the  money  which  he  had  so 
magnificently  cast  abroad  among  the  citizens  of  Salt  Springs. 
Following  his  usual  method  when  doing  business  with  the  na 
tives,  he  was  playing  poker  in  the  office-bar  of  the  Palace 
Hotel.  The  game  was  a  stiff  one,  and  Carson's  profits  were 
mounting  with  pleasing  rapidity.  Opposite  him,  and  the  heavi 
est  loser,  sat  a  young  miner,  Davis.  A  jackpot  was  opened, 
and  after  the  draw  only  Carson  and  Davis  held  their  cards, 
the  gambler's  being  barely  visible  above  the  edge  of  the  table. 

The  pipe  which  the  young  miner  had  been  smoking  fell  to 
the  floor;  he  stooped  quickly  to  recover  it,  and  Carson's 
fickle  goddess  of  luck,  laughing  mockingly,  deserted  him.  It 


58  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

was  the  precise  instant  that  Davis  stooped  that  Carson  chose 
to  extract  two  cards  from  his  bootleg.  Davis  straighted  with  a 
jerk,  and  as  he  leaned  far  across  the  table  his  blue  eyes  blazed. 

"You  dirty  cheating  thief!"  he  snarled,  and  swiftly  the 
crowding  men  sprang  back  from  what  they  knew  would  follow. 

So  swiftly  that  the  eye  might  not  follow  the  movement,  Car 
son  drew  his  revolver,  but  as  swift  as  the  rattler's  strike  was 
the  dart  of  the  left  hand  that  fixed  with  iron  grasp  upon  his 
wrist.  The  table  collapsed  between  the  straining  bodies  as  the 
harmless  bullet  buried  itself  in  the  ceiling,  and  an  instant 
later  the  gambler  was  crushed  to  the  floor.  A  knife  gleamed  in 
the  miner's  upraised  hand. 

It  was  at  this  moment  of  close-hovering  tragedy  that  Betty 
entered,  and  for  an  instant  too  short  to  be  measured,  yet  long 
enough  for  many  thoughts  to  flash  through  her  brain,  and  for 
Carson  to  grow  white  and  limp  as  he  looked  into  Death's  own 
eyes,  the  girl  stood  motionless.  Then  she  darted  forward  and 
caught  the  arm  already  beginning  its  downward  swing. 

"Please,  oh,  please — give  his  life  to  me!"  she  cried,  and  in 
her  voice  was  so  fierce  a  yearning  that  it  reached  even  Davis' 
rage-dulled  brain.  As  he  looked  into  the  girl's  appealing  eyes, 
his  fury  slowly  gave  place  to  dazed  bewilderment. 

"Shorely,  Miss.  Any  little  ole  thing  yo'  want,"  he  stammered 
awkwardly,  and  returned  Betty's  smile  of  gratitude  with  an 
embarrassed  but  admiring  grin.  "You  git  up — this  here  lady 
don't  want  yo'  to  die,"  he  added  contemptuously  to  Carson, 
and  the  gambler  rose  tremblingly. 

"No,  you  can't  buy  no  drink  here!"  was  the  greeting  of  his 
some-time  friend,  Mr.  Baylor,  the  landlord,  as  Carson  lurched 
eagerly  toward  the  bar.  "This  here  house  don't  serve  no  gent 
that  gets  caught  cheatin',"  he  added  with  cold  scorn,  and  with 
an  expression  of  cowed  fury  the  gambler  hurried  out, 
leaped  upon  his  horse  and  galloped  from  the  town. 


THE   GOLDEN  HOPE  59 

Betty  placed  a  small  brown  hand  in  the  massive  paw  of  the 
miner. 

"I  thank  you,"  she  said  simply,  and  then  ran  quickly  up  the 
stair. 

Suddenly  there  arose  in  the  one  street  wild  yells,  and  a  horse 
man  pulled  his  reeking  mustang  to  a  sudden  stop  in  front  of 
the  hotel,  from  which  the  man  came  hurrying. 

"Gold!"  the  horseman  roared.  "They've  struck  free  gold  in 
Sandy  Gulch — richer  'n  Cripple  Creek!" 

In  an  instant  the  town  had  stampeded,  and  when,  a  few  mo 
ments  later  Betty  came  from  the  hotel,  seeking  to  know  the 
cause  of  the  excitement,  the  dust  of  hasty  departure  was  al 
ready  settling.  Not  a  man,  apparently,  was  left  in  Salt  Springs. 
Her  attention  was,  however,  attracted  by  the  stage  approach 
ing  from  the  East,  and  she  waited  with  idle  curiosity  to  observe 
what  manner  of  passengers  it  would  bring. 

'  'Lo,  Betty.  Where's  everybody  done  gone  at?"  the  driver 
asked  curiously  as  he  brought  his  team  to  a  stop  and  rolled  his 
eyes  about  the  deserted  village. 

"Struck  it  rich — in  Sandy  Gulch!"  a  belated  citizen  yelled 
as  he  tore  past,  and  without  a  word  the  stage  driver  leaped  to 
the  ground,  swiftly  cut  free  the  harness  of  one  of  his  horses, 
sprang  upon  its  bare  back,  and  dashed  away. 

A  single  passenger  was  getting  slowly  from  the  coach,  and 
Betty  moved  forward  with  casual  indifference. 

"I  fancy  I  am  a  bit  ill,  y'know,"  Lord  Cecil  said,  as  with 
drooping  head  he  leaned  weakly  against  a  wheel.  "If  you 
would  be  kind  enough  to  get  someone  to  assist  me " 

The  blood  flew  dizzingly  to  Betty's  head,  and  her  heart 
pounded  wildly.  The  impulse  to  run  away  was  almost  over 
powering,  but  she  fought  it  down,  and  faced  him  bravely, 
though  her  face  burned.  Cecil  raised  his  eyes. 


60  THE  BELOVfiD  ADVENTURER 

"You!"  he  cried,  joyously,  and  held  out  his  hand  with  an 
eager  smile. 

Bewildered,  Betty  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  saw  neither  the 
distaste  nor  contempt  she  had  thought  to  find.  What  she  did 
see  caused  her  to  grow  suddenly  shy  and  confused,  while  tears 
that  were  not  of  grief  sprang  into  her  eyes. 

Suddenly  Cecil  reeled,  and  would  have  fallen  had  not  Betty 
sprang  to  his  assistance. 

"I — I  will  help  you  into  the  hotel — there  is  no  one  else," 
she  stammered. 

With  the  girl's  aid  Cecil  reached  a  room,  and  collapsed  upon 
the  bed.  Betty  bent  anxiously  over  him,  but  he  was  uncon 
scious. 

"He  must  have  a  doctor,"  she  whispered,  and  hastened 
away. 

Fortunately  the  doctor  had  not  joined  the  stampede  for  the 
gulch,  and  hurried  with  Betty  to  the  hotel.  Telling  him  where 
he  would  find  the  stranger,  she  herself  walked  rapidly  away 
from  the  town.  Not  far  out  she  met  Mr.  Baylor  and  his  fellow 
townsmen,  dusty  and  in  deepest  disgust. 

"Every  claim  was  already  staked!"  they  told  her  aggrievedly, 
but  Betty  indifferently  passed  on. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  Lord  Cecil  was  still  weak,  but  steadily 
improving. 

Mr.  Baylor  was  troubled.  A  very  careful  examination  of 
Cecil's  scanty  baggage  had  failed  to  disclose  either  money  or 
articles  of  value.  It  was  possible  that  the  guest  had  hidden 
his  roll  during  some  lucid  moment,  but  Mr.  Baylor  doubted. 
He  decided  to  make  a  demand  for  money. 

"But  I  haven't  any.  You'll  have  to  wait  until  I  can  dig 
some  gold,  y'know,"  Cecil  answered  cheerfully,  and  after  a 
moment  of  amazed  paralysis  the  landlord  exploded  wrath- 
fully. 


THE   GOLDEN  HOPE  61 

"You  dead  beat!"  he  roared.  "Tryin'  to  skin  me,  are  you? 
Wait  till  you  dig  some  gold?  Yah!  You'll  pay  up  pretty  soon 
or  be  kicked  out,  you  bet!" 

The  window  of  the  room  was  open,  and  sounds  carried  well 
in  the  clear  air.  Betty,  sitting  beside  her  own  window  in  the 
adjoining  room,  felt  tears  of  anger  and  grief  trickling  down  her 
cheeks. 

"And  it  is  all  my  fault — mine!"  she  whispered  sadly. 

Cecil  was  distinctly  annoyed.  This  landlord  was  evidently  a 
person  quite  lacking  in  reasonableness.  It  would  be  vastly 
more  agreeable  to  have  the  brute  satisfied.  He  pondered  for  a 
moment,  and  then  produced  from  his  satchel  a  packet  of  stock 
certificates. 

"I  say,"  he  suggested,  "suppose  you  take  this  'Golden  Hope' 
mine  in  payment  of  your  bill?" 

Mr.  Baylor  grunted  in  contempt. 

'  'Golden  Hope' — why,  I  wouldn't  give  you  a  plate  o'  beans 
for  that  hole  in  the  ground!  You  pay  up  in  good  cash,  or  out 
you  go,  an'  that  pretty  quick!" 

After  which  Mr.  Baylor  stalked  from  the  room. 

There  is  a  certain  Eastern  paper,  much  given  to  intimate 
accounts  of  the  doings  of  nobility  in  Europe  and  society  leaders 
in  America,  which  has  vogue  and  extensive  circulation  in  those 
sections  of  the  West  which  most  loudly  express  their  utter 
scorn  and  boundless  contempt  for  both  those  ornamental  classes. 
And  fate  willed  that,  almost  simultaneously,  a  certain  paragraph 
should  be  read  by  the  excellent  Mr.  Baylor,  Betty,  and  Mr. 
Monte  Carson.  Mr.  Baylor  was  indulging  his  literary  proclivi 
ties  behind  his  bar;  Betty  sat  beside  her  bedroom  window,  and 
Mr.  Carson  was  leaning  sullenly  against  the  door  frame  of  a 
saloon  in  a  town  some  twenty  dusty  miles  from  Salt  Springs. 
The  paragraph  was  this: 


62  THE   BELOVED   ADVENTURER 

LORD  CECIL  IN  LUCK 

Gold-Brick  Proves  Pure  Metal. 

Recently  Lord  Cecil,  of  England,  purchased  the  "Golden 
Hope  Mine,"  only  to  be  told  by  mining  experts  that  it  was 
worthless.  It  now  appears  that  the  Hope  is  the  choicest  claim 
in  Sandy  Gulch,  where  incredibly  rich  veins  have  just  been 
developed.  Lord  Cecil's  mine  is  worth  at  least  a  million  dol 
lars.  The  lucky  nobleman  is  supposed  to  be  in  the  West, 
inspecting  his  property. 

Mr.  Carson  was  for  some  moments  rendered  inactive  by  the 
chagrin  and  rage  that  swept  over  him.  He,  the  slickest  article 
in  Nevada,  had  euchred  himself  out  of  a  fortune,  and  even  now 
that  unmentionable  ass  of  an  Englishman  might  be  lugging 
sacks  full  of  gold  out  of  his,  Carson's,  mine!  He  leaped  for  his 
horse  and  galloped  furiously  toward  Salt  Springs. 

The  excellent  Mr.  Baylor  almost  wept.  He  had  refused  to 
accept  a  million  dollar  mine  in  payment  for  a  twenty-dollar 
board  bill.  Truly  it  was  a  cruel  world.  But,  he  suddenly  re 
flected,  it  was  not  yet  too  late  to  retrieve  that  error — his  guest 
still  owed  the  bill,  and  certainly  he  had  not  within  the  last 
half  hour  had  any  opportunity  to  gain  information  that  would 
give  him  a  higher  opinion  of  the  value  of  his  stock.  Mr.  Baylor, 
trembling  with  eagerness,  moved  swiftly  toward  Cecil's  room. 

"He  doesn't  know — he  might  have  given  the  stock  away!" 
Betty  gasped,  and  then  her  heart  leaped  joyously.  It  was  all 
right,  after  all.  Cecil  would  not  think  of  her  as  a  lying  swindler, 
now  that  the  truth  exceeded  even  the  promises  of  her  fantastic 
tale  to  him.  Then  her  head  drooped  wearily. 

"No,"  she  whispered,  "this  good  fortune  is  only  chance — 
he  cannot  forget  that  the  intent  was  to  rob  him." 

From  the  adjoining  room  again  came  the  voice  of  Mr.  Bay 
lor,  but  it  was  now  honey-sweet. 

"I  reckon  I  was  kind  o'  mean  a  while  ago,  partner,"  he  said, 


"  Betty  told  a  wonderful  tale. 
(The  Girl  from  the  West.) 


Monte  Carson — Howard  M.  Mitchell. 


THE   GOLDEN  HOPE  63 

"not  to  show  no  more  feelin'  for  a  gent  down  on  his  luck.  I 
ain't  such  a  bad  guy  when  you  get  to  know  me,  an'  just  to 
prove  it,  I'll  take  that  stock  an'  call  the  board  bill  paid." 

Like  a  darting  bird  Betty  was  out  of  her  room  and  burst 
wildly  into  that  of  Lord  Cecil. 

"No!  No!  Don't  give  him  the  mine!"  she  cried,  and  breath 
lessly  told  Cecil  of  the  change  that  had  come  to  his  fortunes. 

"Aw,"  Cecil  observed  calmly,  and  turned  to  the  landlord. 

"I  guess  I  can't  let  you  have  the  stock,  after  all,  y'know," 
he  said. 

In  sullen  rage  Mr.  Baylor  tramped  heavily  from  the  room. 
A  whimsical  smile  flickered  about  Cecil's  mouth  as  he  turned 
to  the  girl,  but  before  he  could  speak  she  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

"No!  Please,  please  don't!"  she  begged.  "I  know — this 
doesn't  change  the  other  thing  at  all.  But  I  am  glad,  glad!" 
she  cried,  and  fled  swiftly. 

Cecil's  voice  W7as  very  tender. 

"Jolly  little  girl,  by  Jove!"  he  said,  "A  little  bit  of  all  right — 
what?" 

With  lowering  brow,  on  which  the  sweat  was  cutting  grimy 
little  channels  through  the  dust,  Mr.  Monte  Carson  strode 
into  the  Palace  bar.  With  a  fine  effort  at  indifference,  and 
politely  ignoring  their  last  meeting,  he  addressed  the  landlord. 

"Heard  there  was  an  Englishman  driftin'  around  the  country. 
Is  he  puttin'  up  with  you,  Baylor?"  he  asked,  and  even  his 
gambler's  eyes  could  not  avoid  a  viciously  greedy  gleaming. 

Mr.  Baylor  looked  at  him  with  a  snarling  laugh. 

"He's  here,  all  right,  but  it  won't  do  you  no  good,"  he  in 
formed  him  maliciously.  "That  little  pet  o'  yourn  's  done 
tipped  him  off,  else  I'd  a  had  that  mine  by  now — he  offered  it 
for  his  board." 

Mr.  Carson  pondered  craftily. 


64  THE  BELOVfiD  ADVENTURER 

"Any  folks  know  he  offered  you  stock  for  board?"  he 
demanded. 

"Yep,  all  the  boys.  I  told  'em.  They  like  to  laughed  their 
selves  to  death.  Don't  seem  so  funny  now,"  the  landlord 
replied  gloomily. 

Carson  drew  nearer,  and  his  voice  was  viciously  low. 

"Well,  he  offered  it  to  you  again,  an*  you  took  it — see?5> 
he  said,  and  with  significance  shifted  forward  his  gun.  "Fifty- 
fifty.  You  on?" 

"I  always  did  say  you  was  a  honor  to  the  State,  Monte,"  Mr. 
Baylor  declared.  "I  plumb  admires  you.  Let's  get  it  all  fixed 
up  before  some  galoot  comes  strayin'  in  here." 

In  the  corridor  outside  her  door  Betty  heard  cautious  foot 
steps  and  guarded  whispers.  Moving  softly  to  the  door,  she 
applied  her  ear  to  the  thin  boards,  and  what  she  heard  sent  her 
back  into  the  room  with  blanched  face.  A  small  but  excellent 
revolver  lay  upon  her  dresser,  and  she  snatched  it  eagerly,  and, 
leaning  from  the  window  called  with  restrained  eagerness. 

"Lord  Cecil!  At  the  window — quick!"  she  whispered,  and 
immediately  Cecil's  head  appeared. 

"Take  this  and  shoot  first!"  Betty  said,  and  leaning  far  out, 
handed  him  the  revolver. 

Barely  had  Cecil  faced  back  into  the  room  when  the  door 
was  unceremoniously  thrust  open,  and  Messrs.  Carson  and 
Baylor,  guns  in  hand,  stood  before  him.  Cecil  laughed,  and  the 
little  revolver  spat  viciously,  twice.  With  duplicate  howls  and 
movements,  the  visitors  dropped  their  guns  and  grasped  at 
the  right  forearms,  from  which  red  blood  was  spurting. 

"You  are  not  hurt,  really,  y'know — be  all  right  in  a  fort 
night,  I  dare  say,"  Cecil  remarked  dispassionately.  "You  may 
go,"  he  added,  with  sudden  boredom,  and  the  two  men,  cowards 
at  heart  and  thoroughly  cowed,  hastened  to  avail  themselves 
of  the  permission. 


THE  GOLDEN  HOPE  65 

The  stage  which  left  for  the  East  next  day  carried  Lord 
Cecil  as  a  passenger,  the  now  servile  and  cringing  Mr.  Baylor 
having  most  eagerly  supplied  such  cash  as  his  guest  suggested 
he  might  require.  There  was  need  for  haste  on  Cecil's  part — 
the  time  was  very  short  during  which  he  could  raise  money  on 
his  mine,  and  save  from  mortgage-foreclosure  and  sale  Croft- 
laigh  Manor.  Betty,  he  had  been  unable  to  find  since  she  had 
handed  him  the  revolver,  and  so  he  was  forced  to  depart  with 
out  saying  goodbye.  Nor  did  he  see,  when  well  out  from  the 
town,  a  slight  figure  that  rose  from  its  place  of  concealment 
beside  the  road  and  gazed  with  wistful  eyes  until  the  lumbering 
stage  disappeared  in  the  haze  of  distance. 


VII 

THE  HOLD-UP 

The  light  locomotive  began  to  labor  as  it  breasted  a  long 
grade,  and  a  spattering  rain  of  soft-coal  cinders  soon  made  the 
rear  platform  even  less  inviting  than  the  dusty  and  uncomfort 
able  day  coach.  Lord  Cecil,  his  bland  optimism  somewhat 
wilted  by  a  thousand  miles  of  cheap  travel,  turned  and  sought 
refuge  in  the  car. 

As  he  dropped  wearily  into  his  seat,  Cecil  became  conscious 
of  an  eager,  wistful  smile  directed  toward  him,  and  auto 
matically  his  features  assumed  that  blankness  and  his  eyes  that 
unseeing  stare  with  which  the  Briton  is  wront  to  repel  the  ad 
vances  of  presumptuous  strangers.  The  smile  pathetically 
faded,  and  the  stranger  shrank  humbly.  Then  Cecil  observed 
how  lined  was  the  old  face,  toil  and  sorrow  having  graven  deep, 
and  yet  not  blotted  out  a  sweetness  and  patience  that  lent  dig 
nity  to  the  rather  weak  mouth,  and  how  neat  was  the  shabby, 
old-fashioned  clothing.  That  kindly  smile,  whimsically  tender, 
well  known  to  many  children  and  womankind,  but  seldom  seen 
by  men,  flashed  into  Cecil's  eyes,  and  the  old  man  quickly 
rose  to  take  the  place  silently  offered  by  Cecil's  movement  to 
the  end  of  the  seat. 

"You'll  excuse  me,  stranger,  but  I'm  so  full  o'  happiness  I 
got  to  let  it  bubble  out  to  anybody  that'll  listen,"  the  old  fel 
low  said,  and  his  manner  was  quaintly  boyish.  Cecil  nodded 
sympathetically. 

"My  name  is  Silas  Meggs.  I  was  born  an'  raised  in  Shady- 
dale — we'll  stop  ther  'bout  three  hours  from  now,"  the  old 
man  gossiped.  "You  know  Shadydale?  No,  I  reckon  you  don't 
— it  ain't  much  of  a  place,  after  all,  but  it's  might  homey  an' 


THE  HOLD-UP  67 

restful  when  a  feller  goes  back,  after  forty  years,  most  nigh,  of 
longin'." 

Almost  shyly  Silas  produced  from  his  pocket  a  small,  worn 
case,  opening  it  to  disclose  an  old-fashioned  portrait,  some 
what  faded  except  for  the  brightly  tinted  lips  and  cheeks,  of  a 
pretty  girl,  who,  one  would  safely  guess,  would  be  sweet  and 
gentle,  but  not  strong  except  in  the  passive  patience  which  is 
sometimes  the  rather  terrible  strength  of  the  weak. 

"Jane,  she  was  my  sweetheart,  near  two-score  years  ago," 
Silas  said  softly,  and  paused  to  dream. 

"I  was  but  a  laborer,  she  was  the  banker's  child,"  he  pres 
ently  continued.  "I  was  an  orphan,  workin'  for  day  wages,  an' 
they  pretty  poor,  for  farmers  round  about.  She  was  the  belle 
of  the  village,  and  might  a  had  her  pick  of  twenty  men,  some 
of  them  the  richest  in  the  county,  but,  she  loved  me,  and  we'd 
meet  when  we  could  unbeknown  to  her  father.  'Course  I 
didn't  dare  go  to  her  house,  me  bein'  but  a  hired  man,  and  old 
Henderson  the  rich  banker.  Out  in  the  big  world,  he  might  n't 
a  counted  so  much,  but  he  was  the  great  man  o'  Shadydale, 
and  terrible  haughty. 

"How  it  all  might  have  ended,  I  don't  know.  Old  Henderson 
would  never  have  dreamed  of  takin'  me  into  his  family,  an' 
Jane  was  not  the  kind  to  defy  him.  Anyway,  it  all  come  to  a 
sudden  head  through  Lawyer  Grady,  that  was  old  enough  to  be 
the  girl's  father  himself,  askin'  Henderson  if  he  might  have 
Jane  for  wife.  Henderson  was  fair  pleased,  Grady  bein'  rich, 
through  mortgages  on  widows'  farms,  and  such  like,  and  told 
Jane  she  was  to  take  him.  Soon  as  she  could  slip  away,  Jane 
came  to  meet  rue,  an*  weep  that  she  didn't  know  what  to  do. 
No  more  did  I,  when  she  said  she  didn't  dare  run  off  with  me. 
She  was  crying  in  my  arms  when  old  Henderson  came  stormin' 
up,  followed  by  Grady,  who  had  seen  us  together,  and  hurried 
to  tell  her  father.  He  ordered  her  to  go  to  the  house  and  to  her 


68  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

room,  and  she  went,  and  that  was  the  last  I  saw  of  her,  stum 
bling  along,  blinded  by  tears.  Me,  he  drove  off  like  I  was  a  tramp, 
and  I — I  just  went.  You  see,  I  wasn't  much  more  'an  a  boy, 
an'  had  always  been  made  to  feel  humble,  an'  he  was  the  great 
man. 

"I  went  back  to  the  place  where  I  worked,  bitter  and  heavy- 
hearted.  My  only  comfort  was  the  belief  that  Jane  truly  loved 
me.  I  thought  my  heart  would  just  break  when  I  read  the  note 
Henderson's  hired  man  brought  me.  It  was  from  Jane,  and 
said  as  how,  havin'  come  to  realize  how  degradin'  was  acquaint 
ance  with  a  person  of  my  class,  she  would  henceforth  regard 
me  as  a  total  stranger,  from  whom  any  communication  would 
be  offensive. 

"I  guess  I  was  near  crazy  with  anger  and  grief,  an'  couldn't 
think,  else  I  would  have  known  that  sweet  little  Jane  never 
willingly  wrote  that  note,  that  she  would  ha'  known  would 
break  my  heart.  The  only  thing  I  could  think  was  to  get  far 
away,  and  in  an  hour  I  was  ready,  and  on  the  road.  As  I  tramped 
away  toward  the  sunset,  I  mind  I  looked  at  the  old  hollow  tree 
where  we  was  used  to  hide  notes  for  each  other.  I  thought  of 
the  last  one  I  had  found  there,  and  the  words  in  it — all  love 
and  promises  to  always  be  true — and  I  laughed,  and  went  on. 
If  I  had  only  looked  in  the  hollow  of  that  old  tree ! 

"It  was  a  weary  road  I  followed,  Stranger,  for  I  carried  a 
burden  of  sorrow  that  I  could  not  lose.  I  could  not  forget. 
For  nigh  forty  years  I  drifted  about  in  the  gold-fields  of  the 
West,  growing  old,  and  never  forgetting.  I  never  had  much 
luck,  but  I  didn't  care.  I  never  heard  any  news  from  Shady- 
dale. 

"At  last  I  made  a  little  strike — not  big,  but  enough  to  take 
care  of  me  as  long  as  I  might  likely  live,  and  I  felt  suddenly 
tired  out,  and  something  kept  pulling,  pulling  at  me,  drawin* 
me  back  to  Shadydale. 


THE  HOLD-UP  69 

"At  last  I  went,  and  the  village  was  just  the  same,  except 
for  the  folks  I  met.  They  were  all  different,  and  nobody  knew 
me.  I  stopped  to  look  at  the  old  Henderson  place,  and  a  woman 
that  must  ha'  been  a  baby  when  I  went  away,  was  foolin'  about 
in  the  yard.  She  told  me  that  old  Henderson  had  died  long  ago — 
had  lost  his  fortune,  every  cent,  and  it  killed  him — and  that 
Jane — Old  Maid  Jane  she  called  her — was  still  living — had 
never  married,  but  waited  always  for  a  lover  who  went  away 
and  never  came  back. 

"Then  something  seemed  to  snap  inside,  and  my  heart  com 
menced  to  pound  like  it  would  choke  me.  Straight  to  the  old 
hollow  tree  I  went — and  it  was  just  the  same — and  in  the  old 
tin  can  hidden  in  the  hollow  I  found  a  note,  yellow  and  crum- 
blin'  in  my  fingers,  but  still  to  be  read.  Jane  had  written  it  as 
soon  as  she  could  after  writing,  as  her  father  stood  over  her 
and  told  her  the  words,  the  note  that  had  sent  me  away.  It 
told  me  that  she  did  love  me,  and  always  would — that  she  knew 
I  would  realize  that  that  other  note  was  forced  from  her,  and 
that  I  would  look  in  the  old  tree  for  her  true  heart's  message. 
And  I  had  not  looked! 

"I  found  her — my  Jane — on  the  poor  farm!  Her  hair  was 
white,  but  to  me  she  was  as  fair  as  on  the  day  she  first  kissed 
me,  forty  years  ago,  and  when  I  looked  into  her  eyes,  I  saw  the 
same  light  shining. 

"Now  you'll  understand,  Stranger,  why  I'm  kinder  foolish, 
maybe.  It  gets  a  feller  sort  of  stirred  up,  bubbly  like,  to  sud 
denly  find  that  he  is  to  be  happy  at  the  end  of  such  a  sad  and 
long  journey,  when  he  wasn't  lookin'  for  anything  but  the  same 
old  aching  pain.  For  we  are  goin'  to  be  happy,  my  old  sweet 
heart  and  me.  I've  sold  my  claim  for  enough  to  buy  a  snug 
little  cottage,  and  take  care  o'  us,  as  long  as  we  live.  I've  got  it 
right  here  in  this  old  bill-book,  the  price  of  happiness,  and 
peace,  and  rest,  for  me  and  Jane." 


70  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

From  his  coat  old  Silas  produced  a  fat  pocketbook,  patted 
it  fondly,  and  carefully  stowed  it  away.  He  lapsed  into  a  happy 
revery.  Cecil  smiled,  with  moist  eyes.  On  the  seat  just  in  front, 
a  man  sat  with  hat  pulled  low  over  furtive,  glittering  glances. 
This  man  was  sometimes  known  as  Sykes.  However,  he  really 
was  entitled  to  the  honorary  title  generally  bestowed — his 
friends  and  admirers  invariably  referred  to  him  as  "Bad" 
Sykes.  Bad  Sykes'  thin  lips  writhed  into  a  grin  of  eager  greed. 

Ahead  of  the  locomotive,  a  man  suddenly  stepped  into  the 
middle  of  the  track  and  waved  a  red  flag.  The  emergency  brakes 
screamed,  and  the  train  came  to  a  bumping  halt.  The  erstwhile 
flagman  covered  the  engine  crew  with  two  heavy  Colts.  Sev 
eral  stubble-bearded  gentlemen  suddenly  arose  from  the  bushes 
alongside  the  track,  and  climbed  into  the  express  car  as  though 
on  imperative  business. 

At  the  first  bite  of  the  brakes  Bad  Sykes  had  thrown  aside 
his  mask  of  repose.  He  arose  swiftly,  with  both  hands  "filled." 

"All  hands  up— keep  'em  up — march  out  the  back  door  an' 
line  up  'long  the  track!"  he  ordered,  and  was  obeyed. 

Lord  Cecil  felt  distinctly  gratified.  This  was  just  the  sort  of 
thing  one  had  a  right  to  expect  in  America.  Personally,  he 
could  suffer  little  from  any  number  of  hold-ups,  his  money 
being  of  such  denominations  and  quantity  as  would  have  pro 
voked  the  contempt  of  a  sneak-thief.  Really,  they  would  think 
it  deucedly  amusin'  at  the  club. 

Cecil  was  at  the  end  of  the  line  which  had  formed  up  along 
the  right  of  way.  Next  him  was  old  Silas.  Mr.  Sykes  had  begun 
at  the  other  end,  and  worked  his  way  down  with  despatch,  the 
passengers  dropping  their  valuables,  almost  with  eagerness,  it 
seemed,  into  the  bag  which  was  held  to  receive  them.  Silas 
contributed  a  small  roll  of  bills  with  shaking  hand. 

"Dig  up  that  wallet,  quick!"  Mr.  Sykes  snarled,  and  his 
revolver  menaced.  Old  Silas  glanced  about  wildly,  as  though 


THE  HOLD-UP  71 

contemplating  flight — but  the  black  muzzle  stared  unwink- 
ingly  into  his  face. 

"Quick!"  Mr.  Sykes  prompted,  and  about  his  eyes  came  the 
tiny  puckers  that  just  precede  the  tightening  of  a  finger  on  a 
trigger.  With  the  joy  of  life  stricken  from  his  face,  old  Silas 
dropped  the  wallet  into  the  gaping  bag. 

"An*  that  watch,"  Mr.  Sykes  prompted  Lord  Cecil,  and  the 
watch  was  added  to  the  other  booty. 

"Oh,  God!  My  Jane — I  can't  take  you  now — always — the 
poor-farm!" 

The  broken,  sobbing  whisper  was  close  at  Lord  Cecil's  side. 
A  flame  seemed  to  leap  through  his  veins,  and  for  an  instant 
a  red  veil  obscured  his  vision.  There  was  a  movement  in  the 
line,  toward  the  other  end. 

"Keep  still,  there!"  Mr.  Sykes  roared,  and  turned  eyes  and 
gun  toward  the  disorder. 

To  the  point  of  the  jaw,  swiftly,  Lord  Cecil  struck,  and  Bad 
Sykes  dropped  suddenly.  In  an  instant  Cecil  had  possessed 
himself  of  his  guns. 

"Keep  still,  everyone!  Tie  this  chap!  Watch  the  bag!"  he 
snapped,  and  ducked  under  the  coach. 

With  swift  lightness,  Lord  Cecil  ran  the  length  of  the  train. 
As  he  slipped  round  the  engine,  the  bandit  guarding  the  crew 
sprang  back  with  a  startled  yell,  and  his  bullet  cut  a  lock  from 
Cecil's  head.  Then  he  pitched  stiffly  onto  his  face,  and  Cecil, 
a  flaming  weapon  in  either  hand,  was  facing  the  storm  of  bul 
lets  sent  at  him  by  the  bandits  leaping  from  the  express  car. 

Suddenly  the  battle  was  at  an  end.  One  of  the  men  by  the 
express  car  dropped  with  a  stifled  moan — the  engine  crew, 
possessing  themselves  of  the  guns  of  the  first  dead  outlaw  had 
come  valiantly  to  Cecil's  support — the  remaining  outlaws,  the 
spirit  gone  from  them,  threw  their  arms  upon  the  ground. 

Two  hours  later  the  train  slowed  down  and  came  to  a  jolting 


72  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

stop.  Upon  the  rear  platform  old  Silas  Meggs  grasped  eagerly 
the  hand  that  Lord  Cecil  extended. 

"I — I'd  thank  you,  sir,  if  I  could,"  he  gulped.  "And,  Jane — 
she'll  be  waiting  for  me — she'd  thank  you.  It  isn't  only  the 
money  we'll  owe  to  you,  but  the  happiness  for  which  we've 
waited  so  long." 

Then  upon  Lord  Cecil  descended  that  shyness  and  horror  of 
spoken  thanks  which  is  the  hallmark  of  his  caste,  and  on  his 
face  was  that  blankness  with  which  the  men  of  his  breed  are 
fain  to  hide  what  may  stir  their  hearts.  Abruptly  he  disen 
gaged  his  hand. 

"My  good  man,  don't  mention  it,"  he  said.  "Really,  there 
was  nothing  else  to  do — the  impudent^fellow^had  taken  my 
watch,  y'know." 

But  Lord  Cecil  lingered  upon  the  platform,  in  the  rain  of 
soft-coal  cinders,  until  distance  hid  the  waving  ..hands  of  Silas 
Meggs  and  a  sweet-faced  old  woman  with  softly  shining  eyes. 


VIII 


Jimmy  Holt,  cashier,  "on  the  works"  of  the  National  Con 
struction  Company,  shut  his  day  book  with  a  cheerful  smack, 
closed  the  safe,  and  switched  off  the  light  over  his  desk. 

"Ready  to  go — no?  Well,  I'm  off — g'night!"  he  said,  and 
departed  whistling. 

"Overgrown  cub!"  Peterson,  General  Manager  of  Operations, 
muttered  irritably,  and  dismissed  Jimmy  from  his  mind. 
Peterson's  humor  was  of  the  blackest,  and  he  now  gave  himself 
to  a  close  scrutiny  of  his  personal  and  very  private  affairs,  with 
most  unsatisfactory  results.  His  need  for  money  was  really 
desperate — the  State  penitentiary  loomed  unpleasantly  near 
unless  he  could  replace,  before  the  accounting  day  now  not  far 
off,  certain  trust  funds  which  he  had  lost  in  reckless  specula 
tion,  and  his  assets  were  totally  exhausted.  His  gloomily  brood 
ing  eyes  rested  on  the  safe,  and  from  speculation  his  expression 
quickly  changed  to  furtive  determination.  Not  long  before  the 
combination  of  the  safe  had  been  changed,  and  was  now  sup 
posed  to  be  known  to  none  "on  the  works"  excepting  Holt. 
Chance,  however,  had  given  Mr.  Peterson  an  opportunity  to 
learn  the  magic  numbers,  and  with  characteristic  thoughtful- 
ness  they  had  been  jotted  down  in  his  pocket  memorandum 
book.  In  a  few  moments  the  iron  door  swung  open. 

"Not  worth  the  chance,"  Peterson  decided,  when  he  had 
computed  the  small  amount  of  miscellaneous  cash.  As  he  re- 
closed  the  safe,  a  sudden  thought  brushed  the  scowl  from  his 
brow  and  twisted  his  lips  into  a  triumphant  and  malicious 
grin.  It  had  occurred  to  him  that  the  money  for  the  pay-roll,  five 
thousand  dollars,  would  arrive  by  express  on  the  following  day, 

73 


74  THE   BELOVfiD  ADVENTURER 

and  be  placed  in  the  safe  over  night.  Instantly  every  worry 
left  him — the  money  was  as  good  as  in  his  pocket,  and  with  very 
little  trouble  all  danger  to  himself  could  be  obviated.  Cer 
tainly  his  luck  had  turned — he  would  take  advantage  of  this 
complacent  mood  of  fortune  to  urge  his  suit  with  Elsie  Man 
ning,  who,  he  was  compelled  to  reluctantly  admit,  had  been 
strangely  cold,  considering  her  unimportance — just  a  pretty 
little  country  person — as  compared  to  that  of  the  General 
Manager  of  Operations  of  the  National  Construction  Company, 
to  say  nothing  of  personal  attractions  that  had,  he  flattered 
himself,  hitherto  proven  irresistible. 

The  moonlight  lent  romantic  charm  to  the  pretty  cottage 
which  was  the  girl's  home,  and  as  he  drew  near,  Peterson  was 
gripped  by  an  emotion  he  had  never  before  experienced — for 
the  first  time  he  realized  that  he  was  passionately  in  love  and 
not  moved  merely  by  a  casual  fancy.  With  quickened  heart 
beat  he  hurried  forward,  only  to  come  to  an  abrupt  stop  as 
he  caught  sight  of  two  figures  in  the  shadows  of  the  veranda. 
There  was  no  mistaking — Elsie  Manning  was  nestling  close  in 
Holt's  embrace,  and  even  as  Peterson  looked  she  raised  her 
lips  to  meet  his  lingering  kiss, 

A  surge  of  primitive  rage  swelled  in  the  onlooker's  breast, 
and  his  teeth  bared  in  a  savage  snarl  as  he  swiftly  drew  his 
revolver.  The  impulse  of  the  male  animal  robbed  of  the  female 
of  its  choice,  to  kill,  was  strong  upon  him,  but  the  cunning  and 
caution  of  the  man  held  it  in  check. 

"Be  wise — wait — you'll  get  a  safe  chance,  one  way  or  an 
other!"  they  whispered,  and  Peterson  pocketed  his  weapon.  All 
sign  of  agitation  vanished  from  his  face,  and,  whistling  cheer 
fully,  he  strode  noisily  forward.  The  figures  hastily  drew 
apart. 

"How  do,  Miss  Elsie — hello,  Jimmy!"  he  said  jovially. 
"Thought  I  might  run  across  you  here,"  he  added  cordially  to 


A   PARTNER   TO   PROVIDENCE  75 

Holt,  as  they  found  seats,  controlling  by  main  strength  the 
rage  that  again  boiled  as  he  noted  the  glow  of  happiness  on 
the  younger  man's  face,  and  the  girl's  shy  joyousness.  They 
drifted  into  general  and  idle  chat. 

"Number  Seven,  eastbound,  is  just  about  due  to  pass,  isn't 
she?"  Holt  asked,  glancing  down  the  hill  to  where  the  single 
track  railway  disclosed  itself  as  parallel  silver  bars. 

"Yes,  I  can  hear  it,"  Elsie  said.  "It  always  reminds  Mother 
to 'wind  the  clock,"  she  added  with  a  musical  chuckle. 

"Seems — seems  like  I  hear  a  train  coming  west,"  Holt  haz 
arded.  "Guess  not,  of  course,  but—  '  He  stopped,  listening 
uneasily.  There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it — from  the  West 
came  the  roar  of  Number  Seven  as  she  swept  down  the  long 
grade  from  the  foothills,  and  from  the  opposite  direction  the 
panting  of  a  big  mogul  as  it  breasted  the  slope. 

"Look!"  Jimmy  suddenly  shouted,  and  sprang  to  his  feet. 

As  Number  Seven  train  thundered  into  sight,  passenger 
Number  Nine,  which  should  have  been  waiting  upon  the  siding 
at  Baxter  Station,  two  miles  east,  tore  round  the  shoulder  of 
a  hill  and  came  on  with  undiminished  speed. 

Lord  Cecil,  with  fair  measure  of  success,  had  been  striving 
to  forget  the  discomfort  of  the  dusty  day  coach  and  the  dis 
tressing  roughness  of  the  roadbed,  in  dreams  of  the  future — 
dreams  into  which  there  came  a  slender  girlish  form  and  wist 
ful  eyes.  Behind  him  lay  curious  adventures;  before  him,  so 
far  as  a  man  might  judge,  lay  a  secure,  flower-bordered  path 
way,  the  progress  along  which  would  be  made  pleasant  by 
wealth,  and,  recurring  in  his  fancies,  the  companionship  of  a 
strange  little  girl  with  a  face  like  a  flower  and  a  heart  like  a 
Knight  of  Arthur's  round  table. 

Suddenly  his  every  sense  seemed  paralyzed  by  sounds  and 
shocks  beyond  human  imagining.  He  was  vaguely  aware  of 


76  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

splintering  timbers,  of  shivering  glass,  of  wild  shrieks  as  pas 
sengers  started  up  and  were  hurled  from  their  feet — then  silent 
blackness,  like  deepest  sleep,  shut  down,  crushing  him  into 
unconsciousness. 

Almost  before  the  two  trains  had  met  in  mutual  destruction, 
Holt,  Peterson  and  Elsie  had  sprung  from  the  veranda  and 
were  racing  toward  the  scene  of  the  catastrophe,  hurrying  im 
pulsively  to  lend  what  aid  they  might.  Even  before  they  had 
covered  the  comparatively  short  distance,  however,  smoke 
began  to  curl  upward  from  the  riven  and  overturned  coaches, 
and  a  moment  later  leaping  red  flames  dimmed  the  moonlight 
as  the  oil  from  the  old-fashioned  lamps  spread  quick  destruction. 
When  they  reached  the  wreck  it  seemed  that  all  the  passengers 
had  already  extricated  themselves,  or  been  assisted  to  safety 
by  those  unhurt.  As  they  stared  in  fascinated  horror  at  a  half 
crushed  and  blazing  coach,  however,  a  man  crawled  painfully 
forth,  and  Holt  sprang  forward  to  aid  him. 

"I'm  a'right!"  the  passenger  gasped,  "But  there's  a  man  in 
there — I  couldn't  get  him  out!" 

He  pointed  toward  the  burning  coach. 

"Come  on!"  Holt  shouted,  and  without  waiting  for  a  reply 
climbed  into  the  car.  Peterson  hesitated,  and  drew  back.  Under 
Elsie's  scornful  glance  he  writhed  uncomfortably. 

"No  use  for  two  to  go — and  we've  got  to  look  out  for  your 
safety,"  he  stammered,  but  the  girl  turned  away,  watch 
ing  fearfully  for  the  reappearance  of  her  lover.  Presently  he 
came,  stumbling  through  the  smoke,  bearing  the  body  of  a 
man. 

"Bring  him  to  the  house,"  Elsie  said  with  eager  pity,  and  gave 
Jimmy  Holt  a  glance  to  win  which  he  would  have  gone  through 
ten  times  the  dire  peril  he  had  just  passed.  She  hurried  ahead, 
and  with  Peterson's  assistance,  Holt  carried  toward  the  cot 
tage  the  unconscious  Lord  Cecil. 


A   PARTNER   TO   PROVIDENCE  77 

An  hour  later  Cecil  opened  his  eyes,  glanced  uncompre- 
hendingly  about  the  simple  bedroom  in  which  he  lay,  and  then 
smiled  into  the  troubled  eyes  of  the  girl  bending  over  him. 

"I  don't  know  what  it's  all  about,  but  I'm  sure  you're  awf'ly 
good,  y'know,"  he  said,  and  went  to  sleep, 

"He'll  be  all  right  now — nothing  the  matter  except  shock 
and  bump  on  the  head,"  Holt  said  with  cheerful  relief.  "He'll 
be  up  for  breakfast,"  he  added  optimistically,  and  took  his 
departure. 

While  not  quite  so  energetic  a  convalescent  as  Jimmy  had 
declared,  Cecil  was  moving  about  the  next  day  without  much 
difficulty,  and,  he  assured  Mrs.  Manning  and  Elsie,  would  not 
need  to  impose  upon  their  hospitality  longer  than  was  required 
to  clear  the  railway  line.  In  the  afternoon  he  insisted  upon 
making  himself  useful  to  the  extent  of  carrying  to  Jimmy  at 
the  construction  company's  temporary  office  an  invitation  to 
supper. 

Half  an  hour  before,  Peterson  had  received  the  express 
package — forwarded  by  horseman  from  the  Junction — con 
taining  the  five  thousand  dollars  for  the  pay-roll,  and  had  handed 
over  the  money  to  Holt,  taking  his  receipt  therefor.  Holt 
wrapped  the  packet  of  bills  in  a  sheet  of  brown  paper,  secured  it 
with  a  rubber  band,  and  placed  it  in  the  safe.  He  had  then 
left  the  office  to  arrange  with  the  foremen  of  the  gangs  for  pay 
ing  off  the  men  on  the  following  day. 

No  sooner  had  Holt  left  the  office  than  Peterson  applied  him 
self  to  the  combination  of  the  safe,  and  in  a  few  moments  had 
extracted  the  package  containing  the  pay-roll  money,  replacing 
it  with  a  dummy  package  of  identical  appearance,  the  latter 
maneuver  being  in  case  Holt  should  chance  to  look  in  the  safe 
again  that  day.  He  hastily  closed  the  safe  and  pocketed  the 
real  money-package  as  footsteps  sounded  alongside  the  build- 


78  THE  BELOVED   ADVENTURER 

ing.  A  few  moments  later  Lord  Cecil  entered  and  inquired  for 
Holt,  and  was  informed  that  he  would  find  him  on  the  works. 
Thither  he  therefore  went,  and  found  that  young  man  wearing 
a  slightly  worried  expression,  which,  however,  vanished  as 
Cecil  delivered  his  message. 

The  cause  of  Holt's  concern  was  a  brief  conversation  he  had 
had  with  the  Sheriff  a  few  moments  before,  during  which  that 
official  had  warned  him  that  a  gang  of  yeggmen  was  believed 
to  be  in  the  region.  Holt's  thoughts  had  at  once  jumped  to 
the  five  thousand  dollars  lying  in  the  none  too  secure  safe  in 
the  temporary  building  which  served  as  office,  and  which  was 
totally  deserted  after  he  and  Peterson  left  in  the  evening. 

When  Cecil  had  gone,  Holt  returned  to  the  office,  to  find 
that  Peterson  had  already  left,  a  fact  that  afforded  him  some 
satisfaction,  it  being  entirely  agreeable  to  him  that  no  one 
whosoever  should  know  that  he  intended  to  carry  on  his  person 
until  the  next  day  the  pay-roll  cash.  The  packet  appeared  to 
l>e  as  he  had  left  it,  and  he  carefully  concealed  it  in  an  inside 
pocket,  then  hurried  away  to  keep  his  engagement  at  the 
Manning  home. 

Peterson,  meanwhile,  had  been  busy  making  arrangements 
with  a  couple  of  tramps  whose  camp  he  had  discovered,  and 
who,  upon  sight  of  the  two  twenty-dollar  bills  he  produced, 
expressed  every  willingness  to  carry  out  his  wishes,  and  as 
sured  him,  with  corroborative  anecdotes,  of  their  entire  com 
petency  for  such  a  task  as  he  set  them. 

"There  will  be  enough  loose  cash  in  the  safe  to  pay  you  for 
your  trouble,  aside  from  what  I  have  advanced,"  Peterson 
assured  them.  "All  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  remove  and  destroy 
the  brown  paper  package  you  will  see.  Have  you  everything 
you  need?" 

"Just  you  leave  it  to  us,  Bo,"  one  cf  the  pair  told  him  re 
assuringly.  "There's  a  flask  o'  'soup'  buried  pretty  close  to 


"  Have  you  done  forgot  how  I  took  you    .    .    .    when  nobody  else  would!'" 
(Lord  Cecil  Keeps  His  Word.) 


A   PARTNER  TO   PROVIDENCE  79 

where  you're  standin',  an'  Rags  is  got  a  cake  o'  soap.  Just 
you  leave  it  to  us." 

Mr.  Peterson  departed,  to  spend  a  wakeful  night,  and  to 
trust  devoutly,  during  the  latter  half,  that  no  one  besides 
himself  had  heard  the  muffled,  knocking  boom  that  came  from 
the  direction  of  the  construction  company's  office.  Such, 
however,  had  not  been  the  case.  At  the  very  moment  when 
the  explosion  took  place,  the  energetic  Sheriff  was  passing  within 
fifty  yards  of  the  building  which  should  have  been  dark  and 
silent,  but  from  which  came  this  significant  choked  roar,  and 
in  which  a  candle  was  glimmering.  Before  the  film  of  smoke 
had  cleared,  the  Sheriff  was  inside  the  building,  and  two  dis 
gusted  gentlemen  of  the  road,  who  were  just  on  the  point  of 
removing  from  the  doorless  safe  the  petty  cash,  found  them 
selves  looking  into  the  muzzle  of  a  singularly  large  and  con 
vincing  revolver. 

Soon  after  daylight  the  Sheriff  and  the  General  Manager  of 
Operations  were  in  consultation  in  the  disordered  office. 

"But  I  tell  you  there  wasn't  no  package  in  the  safe,"  the 
officer  declared  positively.  "I  was  here  two  seconds  after  she 
popped,  an'  they  didn't  have  a  chance  to  touch  a  thing.  There 
wasn't  no  package  of  bills  nor  no  other  package  in  that  thar 
safe." 

Peterson  thought  swiftly.  An  element  of  mystery  had  en 
tered  into  the  affair.  The  wrathful  hoboes  believed  they  had 
been  the  victims  of  a  "plant,"  and  were  maintaining  a  sullen 
silence — there  was  no  danger  to  be  apprehended  from  them — 
if  they  accused  him,  no  one  would  believe.  But  what  had  be 
come  of  the  dummy  package?  Then  the  obvious  solution  flashed 
into  his  mind,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  restrained  an 
exclamation  of  vicious  triumph.  His  revenge — safe,  sure,  and 
terrible  was  at  hand. 

"Then  there  is  but  one  conclusion,"  he  said  with  apparent 


80  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

reluctance  and  regret.  'The  pay-roll  money  was  removed 
from  the  safe  before  it  was  blown  open.  Mr.  Holt,  the  cashier, 
is  the  only  person  to  whom  the  combination  in  known.  It  is 
even  possible  that  he  arranged  this  safe-blowing  as  a  blind — 
though  that,  of  course,  may  have  been  a  coincidence.  If  the 
latter,  he  has  probably  skipped  out — if  he  was  counting  on  this 
fake  robbery,  he  will  be  around  still,  playing  innocent." 

"Looks  like  you  are  right — though  I  wouldn't  ha'  thought  it 
of  Jimmy,"  the  Sheriff  agreed  sadly.  "We'd  better  go  look  him 
up." 

Holt's  boarding  place  lay  on  the  further  side  of  the  Manning 
cottage,  and  as  the  Sheriff  and  Peterson  hurried  toward  it,  they 
observed  Jimmy  standing  at  the  Manning  gate,  chatting  gaily 
with  Elsie  and  the  now  entirely  recovered  Lord  Cecil. 

"You  are  out  early — looking  for  news?"  Peterson  greeted  him 
sneeringly. 

"Yes,  dropped  by  to  see  how  my  patient  was  coming  on," 
Jimmy  answered  cheerfully,  too  joyous  in  his  youth  and  tri 
umphant  love  to  observe  the  other's  manner. 

"Well,  that  gentleman's  health  is  an  important  subject,  of 
course,"  Peterson  replied,  "but  there  is  something  else  you  are 
likely  to  find  more  serious.  The  pay-roll  money  has  been  stolen." 

"How  do  you  know — the  safe  is  locked!"  Holt  exclaimed,  and 
looked  searchingly  at  the  Manager. 

"The  safe  was  blown  open  last  night,  Jimmy,"  the  Sheriff 
cut  in,  with  obvious  disapproval  of  the  Manager's  manner. 
"I  know  the  pay-roll  money  wasn't  in  it,  and  Mr.  Peterson  says 
you  must  have  removed  it,  you  bein'  the  only  one  who  could 
open  the  safe." 

"Oh,  I  see!"  Holt  exclaimed,  and  his  face  lit  up  with  delight. 
"By  George,  my  hunch  was  real!  When  you  told  me  about  those 
yeggs  being  in  the  neighborhood,  I  got  uneasy  about  the  money 
in  the  safe,  and  thought  it  would  be  safer  to  pack  it  around 


A   PARTNER  TO   PROVIDENCE  81 

with  me,  if  no  one  knew.  Here  it  is,  safe  as  a  church!"  he  added 
triumphantly,  and  produced  from  his  pocket  a  flat  brown 
parcel.  The  concerned  looks  faded  from  the  faces  of  the  Sheriff 
and  Lord  Cecil,  and  into  that  of  Elsie,  which  had  grown  white 
and  pinched,  the  color  flooded. 

"Course  I  knew  it  was  all  right,  Jimmy,"  the  Sheriff  began 
apologetically,  but  Peterson  interrupted  with  a  sarcastic 
laugh. 

"Nice  bluff,"  he  sneered.  "Think  you  can  stand  us  off  until 
you  can  make  a  get-away,  now  that  your  little  trick  has  fizzled, 
eh?  How  do  we  know  what  is  in  that  package?  Show  us  the 
money." 

With  eyes  blazing  with  indignation  Holt  tore  open  the 
package. 

"Then  look,"  he  began,  then  stopped  suddenly,  amazement 
and  chagrin  spreading  over  his  features.  He  had  offered  for 
inspection  a  handful  of  worthless  paper  cut  to  the  size  of  bank 
notes. 

"I  thought  so,"  Peterson  commented  spitefully,  and  the 
Sheriff's  expression  grew  stern  as  he  stepped  forward. 

"Reckon  you  better  come  along  with  me,  he  said  coldly. 

With  a  heartbroken  cry  Elsie  threw  herself  upon  Holt's 
breast. 

"7  don't  believe  it,  Jimmy  boy!  And  I  will  love  you  always!" 
she  sobbed.  A  flame  of  jealous  hatred  leaped  into  Peterson's 
eyes.  Cecil  caught  the  expression,  and  vague  thoughts  and 
recollections  shaped  themselves  quickly.  He  stopped  the 
Sheriff  with  a  gesture. 

"I  rather  think,  y'know,  that  Mr.  Peterson  has  the  money 
in  his  pocket,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  he  said  quietly. 

For  an  instant  Peterson  stared  wildly  at  this  unexpected 
accuser,  white  panic  tore  at  his  brain. 

"Oh,  I  am  glad — glad!"  the  girl  cried,  and  clung  closer  to 


82  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

her  sweetheart.  With  a  snarl  of  fright  and  rage  Peterson  leaped 
back,  drawing  his  revolver. 

"But  I'll  get  you,  if  I  hang  for  it!"  he  screamed,  and  leveled 
his  weapon.  With  blazing  eyes  Elsie  strove  to  cover  the  body 
of  her  sweetheart  writh  her  own.  The  revolver  cracked  mur 
derously,  but  the  bullet  sped  futilely  toward  the  sky.  As  the 
assassin's  finger  had  tightened  on  the  trigger,  Lord  Cecil  had 
sprung  forward  and  caught  his  wrist  with  a  steel-like  grasp. 
An  instant  later  the  smoking  revolver  had  been  twisted  from 
Peterson's  hand. 

"You  might,  ah,  remove  this  person,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  Cecil 

suggested,  "but,  to  make  sure,  if  you  will  permit  me "  he 

slipped  his  hand  inside  the  coat  of  the  now  cringing  man,  and 
produced  a  brown  packet,  which  he  handed  to  the  Sheriff  with 
a  smile. 

"If  you  think  it  worth  while  to  open  it,  you  will  find  my  sur 
mise  was  correct,"  he  added.  Then  suddenly  boredom  settled 
upon  him  like  a  fog.  "It,  er,  is  quite  simple,  y'know,"  he 
drawled  wearily,  in  response  to  the  bewildered  looks  directed 
upon  him.  "Not  in  the  least  interestin'.  I  happened  to  be  passin' 
the  window  of  the  office,  an'  saw  this  person  open  the  safe  an' 
change  packages,  an'  when  I  heard  that  Mr.  Holt  was  the  only 
one  supposed  to  know  the  combination — why,  the  deduction 
was  too  obvious  to  miss,  y'know." 

Three  hours  later  an  Eastbound  train — the  line  being  again 
clear — stood  at  Baxter  Station.  Lord  Cecil  shook  hands  cor 
dially  with  Jimmy  Holt,  and  then,  with  a  kindly  smile,  turned 
to  Elsie. 

"I'm  sorry  I  can't  stay  to  the  weddin',  but  I  wish  you  every 
happiness,"  he  said  gently. 

"You — we  will  never  forget  you,"  the  girl  said,  and  tears 
sparkled  in  her  eyes.  "I  don't  dare  to  think  of  what  might 


A   PARTNER   TO   PROVIDENCE  83 

have  happened  if  you  had  not  come  into  our  lives,  like — like 
a  partner  to  Providence!" 

Her  cheeks  grew  rosy  red,  but  she  met  his  eyes  bravely. 
Firmly  she  raised  her  arms,  and  drew  down  his  head. 

"I  am  going  to  kiss  you  goodbye,"  she  said. 

The  train  began  to  move,  and  Cecil  swung  himself  upon  the 
rear  platform,  and  stood  smiling  back  at  them  until  distance 
blurred  their  forms. 

'  'A  partner  to  Providence' — by  Jove,  that  was  a  pretty 
thing  to  say,"  he  murmured,  "an'  it  was  a  pretty  thing  for  her 
to  kiss  me  like  that ."' 

His  eyes  grew  dreamy — he  was  thinking  of  the  thrill  of  hap 
piness  he  would  know  if  ever  other  lips  he  remembered  as 
slightly  parted  in  a  little  wistful  smile  should  give  themselves 
in  soft  surrender  to  his  own. 


In  the  West,  faintly  seen,  a  thin  line  lay  along  the  homon, 
and  on  this  lightly  penciled  divider  of  blue-gray  sky  and  gray- 
blue  sea  Lord  Cecil  fixed  a  dreamy  gaze.  Even  as  he  looked, 
the  line  vanished,  sea  and  sky  blended,  and  the  shores  of  America 
had  slipped  over  the  edge  of  the  world.  The  gulls  that  had  fol 
lowed  the  creaming  wake  circled,  and  with  harsh  cries  of  fare 
well,  turned  back.  The  throbbing  beat  from  the  heart  of  the 
ship  seemed  to  fall  to  a  lower  note  and  a  steadier  rhythm,  as 
though  the  great  engines  settled  and  steadied  for  the  tireless 
toiling  of  the  days  and  nights  to  come. 

Cecil  turned  toward  the  bow,  and  smiled  contentedly.  Off 
there,  very  far  away,  but  nearer  at  each  turn  of  the  whirling 
screw,  was  England — Home.  For  perhaps  the  first  time  in  his 
life  Cecil  felt  the  stir  of  sentiment  as  he  thought  of  Croftlaigh 
Manor,  the  ancient  house  of  his  people,  from  which  he  would 
soon  lift  the  shadow  of  debt  that  had  so  long  hung  threaten 
ingly  above  it.  That  land  which  had  sunk  into  the  West  had 
been  kind  to  him,  had  not  failed  to  realize  for  him  those  glow 
ing  legends  of  fortunes  to  be  swiftly  won  which  in  the  Old 
World  picture  the  New  as  El  Dorado — strangely,  but  lavishly, 
it  had  given  him  of  its  gold,  and,  as  a  munificent  goddess  might 
follow  a  great  gift  with  one  of  priceless  treasure,  there  had 
been  granted  to  him  the  ultimate  joy  of  love.  Enshrined  in  his 
heart  was  a  flower-like  face,  with  wistful  eyes,  and  in  visions 
of  the  future  he  could  see  a  slender,  girlish  form  strolling  be 
neath  the  old  oaks  of  Croftlaigh,  or  hurrying  with  light  step  and 
shyly  tender  smile  to  meet  him  in  the  great  hall,  filling  its  som 
ber  vastness  wTith  the  joy  and  brightness  of  her  beauty  and 
84 


LORD   CECIL  PLAYS  A  PART  85 

youth.  For  thirty  years  no  mistress  had  reigned  at  the 
Manor. 

Idly  Cecil  turned  from  his  dreams,  to  observe  casually  but 
with  interest  the  life  about  him.  Though  hidden  carefully 
from  the  world  which  would  have  scoffed,  there  abode  in 
Cecil's  gentle,  knightly  soul  a  true  affection  for  all  mankind, 
and  an  impulsive  charity  which  sometimes  took  quaint  forms. 

There  seemed  to  be  the  usual  assortment  of  passengers — 
from  the  remarkable  similarity  of  the  people  to  be  encountered 
on  trans-Atlantic  steamers  one  might  be  tempted  to  the  fancy 
that  the  same  individuals  spend  their  entire  lives  aboard  the 
ocean  ferries.  Cecil  observed  with  particular  interest  the 
chronically  worried  mother  of  the  small  boy  who,  her  appre 
hensions  to  the  contrary,  was  not  in  the  least  danger  of  tum 
bling  over  the  rail;  the  stout  gentleman  from  a  small  town  in 
the  Middle  West  who  wore  a  yachting  cap,  addressed  every 
uniform  in  sight  as  "Cap,"  and  was  at  pains  to  respond  "Aye, 
aye,  Sir!"  to  any  remark;  the  hurried-looking  school  teacher 
who  was  continually  losing  her  place  in  a  volume  of  Baedeker, 
and  the  two  gamblers.  The  latter,  who  carefully  posed  as  strang 
ers  to  one  another,  were  so  patently  crooks  of  a  rather  low  grade 
that  Cecil  wondered  if  it  had  already  been  "suggested"  to  them 
that  they  should  not  engage  in  any  "friendly  games."  On  the 
youthful  bride  and  groom  his  eyes  rested  approvingly.  They 
were  so  frankly  in  love. 

Harry  Ashton  was  young,  not  only  in  years,  but  in  charac 
ter,  still  soft  clay,  to  be  shaped  and  formed  by  the  hand  of 
life  and  subjected  to  the  proving  of  the  furnace  of  temptation 
and  adversity.  Whether  he  would  emerge  a  fair  vessel  from 
the  workshops  of  the  Master  Potter,  or  break  upon  the  wheel, 
or  in  the  flames,  no  man  might  say.  In  his  own  opinion,  Harry 
was  a  man  of  the  world,  and  quite  capable  of  handling  with 
credit  any  situation  that  might  arise.  To  Ethel,  his  youthful 
bride,  he  was  all  that  a  man  might  hope  to  be. 


86  THE  BELOVfiD   ADVENTURER 

Harry  was  upon  a  business  trip  to  Europe,  and  had  felt 
vastly  complimented  when  his  employers  assigned  him  to  the 
duty  he  was  to  accomplish.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  business  was 
of  the  simplest  kind,  the  principal  responsibility  in  connection 
therewith  being  the  safekeeping  of  $10,000  in  cash,  which  sum 
was  to  be  used  to  pay  customs  duties  at  various  minor  ports 
where  Harry's  firm  had  no  agents  and  were  unknown. 

Besides  this  money,  Harry  had  in  his  possession  all  his  own 
savings,  which  were  to  be  used  for  Ethel's  expenses  on  the 
trip.  The  idea  of  making  his  necessary  journey  their  wed 
ding  tour  had  been  a  happy  thought,  and  the  marriage  had 
been  somewhat  hastened  in  order  that  the  plan  might  be 
carried  out. 

The  ship  was  already  falling  into  the  routine  that  would 
continue  until  land  was  again  in  sight.  Harry  and  Ethel  went 
to  their  stateroom  to  complete  the  unpacking  of  the  baggage. 
Cecil  wrapped  himself  in  his  dreams.  The  crooks,  known  to 
many  police  departments  by  several  names  and  to  a  few  by 
their  true  ones,  Badger  and  Marks,  drew  together  for  a  furtive 
conference. 

"Poor  pickin's,"  Mr.  Marks  asserted  gloomily. 

"Do  well  to  get  back  car  fare,"  Mr.  Badger  agreed. 

"Might  get  cigarette  money  from  that  newly-wed,"  Marks 
suggested  disconsolately.  "Shall  I  pick  him  up?" 

"Might  as  well — nothin'  else  in  sight,"  his  partner  nodded 
gloomily. 

An  hour  later  when  Harry  appeared  on  deck  alone  he  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  jovial  Mr.  Marks — a  bit  crude  per 
haps,  but  evidently  a  good,  plain  fellow.  A  short  while  after 
it  had  happened  that  Harry  had  come  to  know  Mr.  Badger, 
and  in  the  most  natural  way  in  the  world  it  came  about  that 
Harry  introduced  Mr.  Badger  to  Mr.  Marks.  Evidently  these 
were  men  of  perception  and  knowledge  of  the  world,  for  they 


LORD   CECIL  PLAYS  A   PART  8r< 

valued  Harry  and  his  opinions  at  quite  their  true  worth,  some 
thing  that  many  men  older  than  himself  were  not  always  prone 
to  do.  The  trio  drifted  into  the  smoking  room,  and  a  friendly 
argument  between  Messrs.  Marks  and  Badger  as  to  who  should 
pay  for  the  drinks  was  settled  by  the  matching  of  coins. 
Matching  for  the  coins  themselves  followed,  and  it  was  Harry's 
suggestion  that  the  jesting  game  be  made  three-handed.  An 
hour  later  they  rose  from  the  table,  the  boy  feeling  somewhat 
the  effect  of  the  half-dozen  drinks,  and  striving  to  appear 
indifferent  to  his  winnings — about  twenty-five  dollars. 

"You  must  give  us  a  chance  to  get  back  at  you,"  Marks 
laughed  jovially,  and  Harry  nodded. 

"Sure,  old  man!"  he  promised,  and  swaggered  away. 

"He's  hooked,"  Mr.  Marks  yawned. 

"Yep — nothin'  but  a  minnow,  though,"  Mr.  Badger  agreed. 

Had  Ethel  been  of  greater  perception  or  wider  experience, 
Harry  might  still  have  been  saved  from  the  trap  into  which  he 
had  walked,  but  the  girl  had  become  annoyed  at  what  she  was 
pleased  to  regard  as  her  husband's  cold  neglect  in  absenting 
himself  for  two  whole  hours.  Moreover,  in  her  eyes  he  had  been 
gambling,  and  she  was  genuinely  shocked  and  grieved,  out  of 
all  proportion.  Her  tearful  reproaches  produced  only  irritation 
which  expressed  itself  by  sulky  silence,  and  an  inward  wrathful 
declaration  of  independence.  The  vapor  obscuring  their  sun 
was  but  a  tiny  shadow  which  a  smile  could  have  banished,  but 
to  them  it  was  the  black  cloud  of  domestic  tragedy. 

The  unexpected  did  not  happen.  On  the  contrary,  events 
were  quite  as  two  of  the  participants  therein  intended  them  to 
be.  Harry  duly  gave  his  friends  the  opportunity  to  get  back 
at  him,  and  a  card  game  was  voted  to  possess  more  interest 
than  the  childish  matching  of  coins.  As  the  game  progressed, 
with  steadily  mounting  stakes,  the  boy  drank  freely,  and  his 
excitement  grew  to  fever  heat.  Idling  through  the  smoking 


88  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

room,  Cecil  observed  the  affair  with  keen  displeasure,  and 
when  his  opinion  of  Messrs.  Marks  and  Badger  was  confirmed 
by  a  swindle  as  crudely  executed  as  it  was  flagrant,  his  indig 
nation  sent  him  forward  a  step.  Second  thought  checked  the 
impulse  to  interfere. 

"Probably  wouldn't  believe  it,"  he  reflected.  "Besides,  he 
must  learn  his  own  lesson,  and  that  game  isn't  stiff  enough  to 
ruin  him." 

With  a  slight  shrug  Cecil  strolled  away,  and  a  few  moments 
later  Harry  sat  staring  dazedly  at  his  friends,  grown  suddenly 
contemptuously  indifferent. 

"Broke,  huh?"  Mr.  Marks  commented.  "Say,  you  pack  a 
roll  'most  as  big  as  a  kid  takes  to  Sunday  School.  'Course  I 
was  foolish,  but  I  thought  you  had  enough  to  sit  in  a  man- 
sized  game." 

With  a  yawn  he  turned  away.  Mr.  Badger  followed,  without 
deeming  their  late  opponent  worthy  of  any  remark  whatso 
ever. 

For  some  minutes  Harry  sat  still,  his  fever  steadily  mount 
ing,  as  his  brain,  no  longer  concentrated  on  the  game,  felt  the 
full  effect  of  his  drinks.  A  furious  resentment  began  to  boil  in 
his  breast.  Took  all  his  money,  and  then  laughed  at  it,  did 
they?  Couldn't  sit  in  a  man-sized  game,  couldn't  he?  He'd 
show  them  a  thing  or  two!  He'd  flash  a  roll  that  would  scare 
'em  to  death,  then  he'd  win  back  his  own  money  and  every  cent 
they  had.  Why,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  a  streak  of  fool  luck  that 
was  just  due  to  break,  they  wouldn't  have  won  a  pot!  He'd 
make  'em  sing  small! 

Hurrying  to  his  stateroom  Harry  tore  open  his  shirt  and  from 
a  concealed  money-belt  took  a  thick  wad  of  bills,  his  move 
ments  furtive.  The  clay  was  crumbling — there  would  be  cast 
out  from  the  furnace  a  distorted,  ugly  thing — a  criminal.  Sud 
denly  the  door  opened,  and  the  boy  shrank  ba°k  with  a  cry  as 


LORD   CECIL  PLAYS  A  PART  89 

Ethel  entered.  In  one  swift  glance  the  hideous  truth  was  re 
vealed  to  her,  and  with  a  cry  of  horror  she  caught  at  his  arm. 

"For  God's  sake,  Harry,  don't!"  she  cried,  and  then  followed 
a  wild  jumble  of  prayers,  accusations,  and  entreaties.  "Think 
what  you  are  doing!  You  will  be  an  embezzler — a  thief!" 

Sobbingly  she  paused — for  a  moment  the  boy  was  swrayed  by 
reason  and  conscience,  and  all  might  yet  have  been  well  had 
the  distracted  girl  not  gone  on. 

"You  will  be  disgraced — I  will  be  the  wife  of  a  convict — no, 
I  will  not,  I  will  leave  you!  If  you  go  out  of  that  door  I  will 
leave  you — despise  you — leave  you!"  she  gasped. 

His  anger  flared  blindingly. 

"Leave  me!  I  wish  to  God  you  would — good  riddance!"  he 
snarled,  and  brutally  throwing  her  aside,  dashed  from  the  room. 

For  a  few  moments  the  girl  remained  as  though  frozen,  the 
sobs  choked  back.  Then  with  white  face  and  tragic  eyes  she 
hurried  out. 

It  was  already  late,  and  Cecil  was  the  only  passenger  re 
maining  on  the  moonlit  deck.  Suddenly  he  started  up,  leaped 
forward,  and  grasped  the  form  of  a  girl  as  she  poised  on  the 
rail.  With  gentle  firmness  he  drew  her  to  a  chair  and  sat  down 
beside  her. 

"Oh,  why  did  you  stop  me?  It  would  have  been  over  now!" 
Ethel  cried,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Cecil  placed  a  soothing  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"It  probably  isn't  so  bad  as  all  that,"  he  said  gently.  "Just 
you  tell  me  the  whole  story." 

And  presently  she  had  done  so. 

Cecil's  face  was  very  grave  and  troubled,  but  her  head  was 
bowed  and  she  did  not  see.  He  spoke  with  firm  and  convincing 
encouragement. 

"I'll  straighten  this  up,  some  way — I  give  you  my  word  I 
will,"  he  said. 


90  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  with  the  faith  of  a  child,  and  being 
utterly  worn  out,  slept. 

Meanwhile  Harry  had  found  Messrs.  Badger  and  Marks, 
and  those  gentlemen  had  exchanged  glances  of  delight  as  they 
observed  the  denominations  of  the  bills  the  boy  ostentatiously 
displayed.  And  even  as  Lord  Cecil  was  gently  drawing  a  rug 
over  the  girl  asleep  on  deck,  Harry,  with  starting  eyes  and  reel 
ing  brain,  stumbled  into  his  stateroom,  and  fell  in  a  stupor 
upon  the  floor.  Messrs.  Badger  and  Marks  had  made  a  clean-up. 

At  dawn  Cecil  sent  the  girl  below,  and  her  coming  roused 
Harry  to  a  full  realization  of  all  that  he  had  done.  The  boy 
was  utterly  crushed  and  cowed,  and  the  girl  forgave  him,  but 
she  realized,  as  he  knelt  at  her  feet,  sobbing  out  his  shame  and 
repentance,  that  unless  by  some  miracle  he  could  again  appear 
before  her  as  a  man,  her  love,  and  the  joy  of  life,  were  done  and 
dead. 

Cecil,  at  the  earliest  opportunity,  obtained  from  the  smoking 
room  steward  a  deck  of  cards,  and  with  them  retired  to  his 
stateroom.  He  had  previously  noticed  that  all  the  cards  car 
ried  in  stock  had  backs  of  sim'lar  design  and  color.  He  now 
proceeded  to  carefully  mark  the  deck  he  had  purchased.  His 
intent  was  to  meet  the  enemy  with  the  enemy's  own  weapons, 
and  he  felt  no  stain  upon  the  honor  beside  which  life  was  to 
him  a  trivial  thing. 

It  was  a  matter  of  slight  difficulty  to  engage  the  complacent 
swindlers  in  a  game,  very  early  in  which  Cecil  substituted  his 
marked  cards  for  the  deck  in  play.  At  the  end  of  that  game 
Cecil  had  in  his  possession  the  three  times  stolen  $10,000,  and 
the  professional  crooks  were  staring  at  each  other  in  sodden 
daze. 

"What  happened?"  Mr.  Marks  gasped,  when  their  unexcited 
opponent  had  departed. 


LORD   CECIL  PLAYS  A  PART  91 

"Ask  me!"  Mr.  Badger  replied  scornfully.  His  gloomy  glance 
rested  upon  Cecil's  chair,  and  with  a  snarl  of  fury  he  seized 
upon  the  deck  for  which  Cecil  had  substituted  his  marked  cards. 

"He  done  us,  the  cheat!  He  switched  the  deck  on  us!"  Mr. 
Marks  hissed.  His  features  grew  livid,  and  he  leaned  forward 
to  whisper  with  venomous  emphasis:  "But  we  will  get  the 
money  back — and  maybe  Mr.  Englishman  won't  get  well  of 
what  will  ail  him!" 

Quietly  Cecil  returned  the  money  to  Harry  Ashton,  who  was 
too  completely  sunk  in  misery  to  feel  any  emotion,  even  sur 
prise.  Any  thanks  that  he  might  have  attempted  to  utter 
were  cut  short  by  Cecil's  cold  comment. 

"You  have  been  a  silly  child  and  a  brutal  cad,  y'know,"  he 
told  him,  for  his  soul's  good,  and  left  him. 

Cecil  soon  understood  that  his  self-assumed  duty  as  special 
providence  was  not  yet  finished.  He  chanced  to  overhear,  as 
she  unconsciously  spoke  them  aloud,  words  which  revealed  the 
ache  in  Ethel's  heart. 

"His  folly  and  crime  my  love  would  forgive,"  she  had  moaned 
"if  I  could  again  think  him  a  man!" 

And  Cecil  went  away  troubled.  Long  pondering  evolved 
but  one  possible  plan,  and  he  sighed. 

"It's  a  beastly  job,  but  I've  got  to  see  the  thing  through," 
he  thought.  "It  will  mean  happiness  for  the  little  girl,  if  he 
has  a  spark  of  manhood  in  him.  It's  worth  the  chance." 

Suddenly  he  smiled  with  gentle  whimsicalness,  and  spoke 
aloud. 

"  You  would  want  me  to  do  it,  Betty,  wouldn't  you?" 

On  deck  Cecil  found  Ethel  Ashton,  and  induced  her  to  walk 
with  him,  though  the  girl  seemed  listless  and  weary  to  the  point 
of  exhaustion.  In  a  deserted  spot  he  had  located  Harry, 
sulking  bitterly,  and  toward  this  spot  he  led  the  way..  When 


92  THE  BELOVED   ADVENTURER 

near  and  in  plain  view  of  Harry,  he  suddenly  caught  the  girl 
in  his  arms,  and  despite  her  amazed  and  angry  struggles, 
kissed  her  passionately.  In  a  moment  Harry  had  covered  the 
distance  between  them,  and  furiously  jerked  Cecil  away. 

"What  do  you  mean,  you "  he  began  savagely,  and  Cecil 

laughed  mockingly. 

"Oh,  you,"  he  said.  "Don't  bother  me — or,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it?" 

"This!"  Harry  raged,  and  struck  straight  for  Cecil's  face. 

The  blow  staggered  him,  and  a  dark  blotch  appeared  on  his 
cheek,  but  without  a  word  Cecil  turned  and  hurried  cringingly 
away.  Ethel  stared  wonderingly,  then  a  great  joyousness  swept 
over  her  face. 

"Oh,  Harry,"  she  cried,  and  laid  her  head  against  his  breast. 

In  his  stateroom  Cecil  gravely  inspected  his  bruised  cheek. 
Suddenly  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  contracted — reflected  in  the 
glass,  he  had  seen  the  door  behind  him  silently  open,  two 
crouching  figures  glide  in,  and  the  door  close.  The  figures 
crept  toward  him — in  the  hand  of  one  was  a  vicious  knife,  and 
the  second  man  was  raising  a  blackjack  for  a  stunning  blow. 
Cecil's  hand  shot  out,  and  he  stepped  aside  and  turned  at  the 
same  instant.  A  second  later  Messrs.  Marks  and  Badger  were 
looking  into  the  muzzle  of  an  unwavering  revolver.  Without 
a  word  Cecil  disarmed  the  would-be  assassins,  locked  the  door, 
pocketed  the  key,  and  snapped  shut  the  lid  of  a  steamer  trunk 
in  which  he  had  placed  knife,  blackjack,  and  his  own  revolver. 
A  look  of  savage  joy  came  over  the  faces  of  the  crooks  as  they 
realized  that,  two  to  one,  they  were  locked  in  the  room  with 
Cecil,  unarmed.  They  crouched,  and  crept  forward. 

"All  ready,"  Cecil  said  grimly. 

Twenty  minutes  later  Cecil  unlocked  the  door  and  allowed 


LORD   CECIL  PLAYS  A  PART  93 

to  crawl  out  two  bloody,  battered  wrecks,  too  sick  to  even 
wonder  at  the  meaning  of  his  parting  remark,  his  almost 
apologetic,  "I  think  I  really  owed  myself  that,  y'know." 

When  alone,  Cecil  surveyed  the  devastated  stateroom  with 
a  grim  smile — then  the  grimness  vanished,  and  the  smile  was 
very  tender.  A  sweetness  filled  the  disordered  place  with 
illusive  perfume,  a  slender,  girlish  form,  with  shining  eyes 
stood  mistily  beside  him,  and  he  seemed  to  feel  upon  his  bruised 
cheek  the  light  touch  of  cool,  soft  lips. 


LORD  CECIL  KEEPS  HIS  WORD 

Mr.  Monte  Carson,  his  right  arm  in  a  sling,  sat  in  the  con 
veniently  amalgamated  office-lobby-bar  of  the  Palace  Hotel 
and  indulged  in  gloomy  reflections. 

"It  makes  me  plumb  ashamed,"  he  growled,  and  rolled  a 
challenging  eye  toward  the  excellent  Mr.  Baylor,  landlord. 
"Me — to  be  done  by  a  Englishman]  Yah!" 

"It  was  luck — just  fool  luck,  Monte,"  Mr.  Baylor  asserted 
conciliatingly.  "You  done  the  first  trick  beautiful — an'  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars  is  a  pretty  good  pot,  after  all." 

Mr.  Carson  cast  upon  him  a  look  of  contempt. 

"Yes,  mighty  good  pot  to  have  sold  a  million-dollar  mine 
for,"  he  sarcastically  agreed.  "But  I  ain't  out  of  the  game  yet, 
not  by  a  long  shot!"  he  added  with  sudden  fury.  "I'll  «et  that 
mine  back  if  I  have  to  twist  his  neck!  I'm  a  curly  haired  ole 
he- wolf,  I  am — hear  me  howl!" 

Mr.  Baylor  did  not  seem  vastly  impressed.  He  regarded  his 
own  bandaged  right  arm,  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  reckon  this  here  Lord  Cecil  person  is  a  right  good  party 
to  let  alone,  Monte,"  he  opined. 

Mr.  Carson  merely  grunted  wrathfully,  and,  slipping  his 
arm  from  its  sling  moved  it  up  and  down  tentatively. 

"Bah!  There  won't  be  any  shootin'-irons  in  this,"  he  said. 
"Most  any  fool  can  shoot.  This  here  game  is  goin'  to  be  played 
W7ith  brains,"  he  explained  loftily,  and  tramped  heavily  up  the 
stair. 

"At  that  I  ain't  backin'  your  game,  none  to  speak  of,"  Mr. 
Baylor  commented  inaudibly. 
94 


LORD   CECIL  KEEPS  HIS   WORD  95 

Mr.  Carson  entered  Betty's  room  with  frowning  aggres 
siveness,  but  the  look  of  cold  defiance  which  flashed  into  the 
girl's  eyes  warned  him  that  he  had  no  longer  to  deal  with  an 
unformed  child.  Just  what  was  the  change  in  Betty  he  was 
unable  to  say,  but  his  instinct  told  him  that  diplomacy  must 
now  supplant  the  moral  intimidation  that  had  hitherto  served 
to  bend  her  to  his  will.  It  was  through  her  sense  of  gratitude 
alone  that  he  might  hope  to  command  her  obedience.  There 
fore  he  opened  the  conversation  with  reproaches  for  her  dis 
loyalty. 

"I  never  would  ha*  thought  it  of  you,  Betty,"  he  said  slowly. 
"Ain't  I  always  done  the  best  I  could  for  you?  Have  you  done 
forgot  how  I  took  you,  when  you  was  a  baby,  and  nobody  else 
would,  and  raised  you  like  you  was  my  own  child?  And  then, 
when  I  was  just  tryin'  to  get  back  the  mine  that  I'd  been  swin 
dled  out  of,  you  turn  against  me,  an'  put  into  the  hands  of  the 
man  that  had  robbed  me,  the  gun  I  had  given  you!  I  wouldn't 
ha'  thought  it,  girl." 

Betty's  eyes  were  cold,  however,  and  he  knew  his  appeal 
had  failed. 

"Monte,"  she  replied,  and  her  smile  was  bitter,  "it  isn't  any 
use  to  keep  up  the  pretense.  I  know  now  just  what  you  are — 
a  cowardly,  cheating  thief.  It  is  true  you  reared  me,  as  a 
speculation — to  serve  as  your  decoy — and  the  investment  has 
returned  a  profit.  I  saved  your  life  when  it  was  forfeited  to 
Davis'  knife,  and  squared  accounts.  I  owe  you  nothing." 

With  a  terrible  effort  the  gambler  controlled  the  rage  that 
almost  choked  him.  He  still  needed  this  girl,  and  hatred  must 
not  be  allowed  to  interfere  with  business.  There  would  be  time 
enough,  when  she  could  no  longer  be  made  of  value,  to  settle 
personal  accounts.  His  mind  worked  swiftly.  He  would  even 
tell  the  truth  to  win  a  victory,  and  the  truth  appeared  now  to 
be  his  best  weapon. 


96  THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"When  I  tell  you  it  was  your  mine,"  he  sneered,  "which  I 
had  no  right  to  sell,  you  will  be  willing  enough  to  help  recover 
it,  I  reckon,  and  become  a  millionairess!  He  has  no  title.  I 
can  get  it  back,  and  will,  but  it  would  be  easier  with  yo«ur 
help." 

Betty  looked  at  him  with  widening  eyes. 

"You  mean ?"  she  whispered. 

"I  mean  what  I  say.  The  mine  was,  and  still  is,  yours.  It 
was  your  father's  claim,  an'  not  being  your  legal  guardian,  I 
couldn't  convey  title.  Of  course  he  could  make  a  lot  of  trouble 
but  he  won't — he'll  give  up  quick  enough  when  I  hand  back 
the  $25,000  he  paid,  and  spin  him  a  yarn — the  fool!" 

"Tell  me  your  plan,"  Betty  said  eagerly,  and  he  did  so, 
speaking  now  as  one  artist  to  another.  He  was  quite  satisfied. 
The  girl  had  tumbled  from  her  high  and  mighty  perch,  as  his 
opinion  of  human  nature  had  convinced  him  she  would,  when 
she  discovered  that  her  own  interests  were  at  stake.  It  would 
simplify  matters  to  have  her  a  willing  assistant,  rather  than  a 
blind  dupe. 

Betty  appeared  to  listen  closely,  but  her  mind  was  really 
otherwise  engaged.  Ardent  impulses,  daring  hopes,  and  strange 
emotions  were  stirring  in  her  breast.  Suppose  she  were  to  give 
up  the  fortune  to  Lord  Cecil?  Surely  he  would  be  grateful — 
perhaps  he  might  even  come  to  love  one  who  would  do  so  much! 
Or,  if  she  kept  the  mine,  she  would  be  very  wealthy,  and  per 
haps,  for  the  sake  of  her  fortune  he  would .  Betty's  was  a 

proud  little  heart,  above  the  false  shame  of  small  souls.    Why 
should  she  lie  to  herself  if  this  man  had  won  her  love? 

"How  soon  can  you  be  ready  to  start  for  England?"  Mr. 
Carson  concluded. 

"Right  away!"  she  cried  joyously,  and  as  Carson,  crafty 
satisfaction  in  his  eyes,  left  the  room,  she  began  to  swiftly  pack 
her  simple  belongings,  and  she  and  Carson  were  passengers 


LORD   CECIL  KEEPS   HIS   WORD  97 

aboard  the  steamer  which  sailed  next  after  that  which  had 
borne  Lord  Cecil  home. 

Cecil's  arrival  in  England  had  been  followed  by  an  activity 
and  attention  to  business  details  which  reduced  him  to  the  last 
degree  of  boredom.  Five  minutes  before  the  property  would 
have  been  sold  under  the  foreclosed  mortgages,  he  reached 
Croftlaigh,  and  presented  to  the  minor  legal  official  in  charge 
of  the  proceedure  the  following  letter  from  his  bankers: 

MY  LORD  CECIL: 

The  10,000  shares  (entire  capital  stock)  of  "Golden  Hope" 
mine  have  been  deposited  to  your  credit.   You  may  draw  upon 
us  for  any  amounts  up  to  £100,000. 
Your  obt.  svts., 

BROWNELOWE  &  Co.,  LTD. 

The  sympathetically  deferential  manner  with  which  the 
official  had  received  the  nobleman  whose  ancient  seat  was 
about  to  be  sold  gave  place  to  one  of  humble  and  eager  servility. 

"It  is  of  course  Your  Lordship's  wish  that  these,  ah,  pro 
ceedings  be  terminated,"  he  said.  "Your  Lordship  need  have 
no  concern — I  will  see  that  the  matter  is  adjusted  with  the  ah, 
claimants.  Might  I  venture  to  congratulate  Your  Lordship?" 

"You  might,  but  don't — er — trouble  to  do  it,  please,"  Cecil 
responded,  and  the  man  bowed  gratefully. 

"Certainly,  My  Lord — thank  you,  My  Lord!"  he  said,  and 
Cecil  made  his  way  into  the  house  of  his  fathers. 

Why  it  should  be  the  faithful  James  who  answered  his  ring 
from  the  library,  how  the  man  had  informed  himself  of  his 
master's  return  to  England,  or  by  what  means  he  had  material 
ized  himself  upon  the  rug  by  the  door,  Cecil  did  not  trouble 
to  speculate.  It  was  proper  and  sufficient  that  he  was  there. 

"A  Scotch  an*  soda,  James,"  he  ordered. 


98  THE  BELOVED   ADVENTURER 

"Yes,  My  Lord,"  James  gulped,  and  as  he  passed  out  fur 
tively  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

The  week  which  followed  was,  probably,  the  most  happy 
which  Cecil  had  ever  known.  The  breeze  from  the  sea  that 
beat  against  the  cliffs  a  mile  away  gave  freshness  to  the  per 
fumed  airs  of  the  English  summer.  Perfect  peace  seemed  to 
brood  over  ancient  Croftlaigh.  Cecil  went  through  the  days 
idly  dreaming,  and  into  his  dreams  there  came  with  growing 
frequency  and  more  compelling  charm  the  face  of  a  little 
girl  with  wistful  eyes,  so  that,  on  a  still  afternoon  he  put  be 
hind  him  the  traditions  and  conventions  which  to  so  large  an 
extent  governed  his  life,  and  began  a  letter. 

"Dear  Miss  Carson,"  he  wrote.  "The  enforced  haste  of  my 
departure  prevented  me  from  expressing  my  deep  gratitude 
for  your  kindness,  and  my  poverty  prohibited  declarations  of 
other  emotions  you  had  stirred.  May  I  return,  to  thank  you, 
and  ask  you  to  accept  my  love  and  share  the  fortune " 

He  broke  off  abruptly  at  the  entrace  of  James,  followed  by 
a  youthful  lout  whom  Cecil  recognized  as  a  stable-boy  from  the 
Red  Lion  Inn,  situated  a  half-mile  from  Croftlaigh's  gates. 

"He  has  a  note,  My  Lord,  which  he  says  is  to  be  given  into 
your  Lordship's  own  hand,  and  no  other,"  James  explained, 
with  a  slight  sniff  of  disapproval. 

"Very  well,"  Cecil  said,  and  gave  the  boy  a  coin  in  exchange 
for  the  letter  he  had  so  zealously  guarded.  Indifferently  he 
tore  open  the  envelope. 

"Lord  Cecil,"  the  missive  ran;  "I  have  discovered  that  I 
had  no  legal  right  to  sell  you  the  'Golden  Hope.'  The  mine 
belongs  to  an  orphan,  Elizabeth  Lee.  On  her  behalf,  I  appeal 
to  your  honesty  to  restore  the  property.  I  will  at  once  refund 
the  $25,000  which  you  paid  me.  I  will  call  tomorrow."  The 
signature  was  "George  Carson." 

For  once  in  his  life  the  brave,  patient  soul  of  Lord  Cecil 


LORD   CECIL  KEEPS  HIS   WORD  99 

became  weary  and  disheartened,  and  his  kindly  face  seemed 
suddenly  older.  Slowly  he  tore  into  tiny  fragments  the  letter 
he  might  not  now  send  to  the  little  girl  in  the  far  off  West, 
and  made  his  way  from  the  house  which  seemed  to  have  suddenly 
fallen  mto  a  glooming  silence  and  to  be  bowed  beneath  the 
wreight  of  its  centuries. 

Cecil  walked  slowly,  seeing  nothing  of  the  hawthorne  hedges 
that  kept  the  quiet  lane  prisoner  between  walls  of  white  blos 
som.  And  then,  as  though  his  thoughts  had  drawn  her  across 
the  thousands  of  miles  of  land  and  sea,  Betty  stood  before 
him. 

"You!"  he  cried  with  joyous  amazement,  and  though  shy, 
her  smile  was  frankly  happy. 

They  strolled  on  through  the  pleasant  fields,  together.  He 
did  not  ask  how  or  why  she  was  there — that  she  was  was  suf 
ficient.  The  years  seemed  to  slip  from  him — because  no  other 
woman  had  ever  filled  his  heart,  he  was  now  as  a  boy  thrilling 
and  yearning  with  the  nearness  of  his  first  sweetheart.  They 
found  a  shaded  spot,  and  sat  for  some  time  silent.  The  unex 
pectedness  of  the  meeting  with  Betty,  the  thought  that  unkind 
fate  made  it  now  impossible  for  him  to  ask  her  to  share  his 
poor  fortunes,  the  unconcealed  tenderness  of  the  girl,  and  the 
joy  of  their  hour  together,  all  contributed  to  bring  Cecil's 
love  to  a  pitch  demanding  expression,  though  he  felt  that  he 
should  be  silent.  At  last  he  spoke,  as  though  against  his  will. 

"I  was  coming  back  to  America,  to  tell  you  I  loved  you. 
Now  the  fortune  I  thought  I  had  won  is  no  longer  mine,  and 
I  can  not  ask  you  to  share  the  mean  poverty  I  must  endure." 

He  turned  away,  striving  desperately  to  attain  that  un 
emotional  blankness  of  expression  with  which  he  was  wont  to 
mask  his  heart.  The  girl  looked  at  him  with  an  almost  fierce 
tenderness,  and  rising,  placed  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders, 
forcing  him  to  look  into  her  eyes. 


100  THE  BELOVfiD  ADVENTURER 

"I  love  you,"  she  said  simply.  "Will  you  not  marry  me— 
today?" 

A  glow  of  dazed  happiness  spread  over  him,  hut  he  struggled 
against  the  impulse  to  take  her  into  his  arms. 

"Do  you  realize,  Betty,"  he  said,  "that  I  am  no  longer  young 
— a  man  untrained  to  any  work;  that  I  will  be  desperately  poor 
— must  try  to  begin  life  all  over  again,  in  some  new,  hard 
land?" 

"I  love  you,"  she  repeated  gravely,  as  though  in  this  were 
the  answer  to  all  things. 

"May  God  forgive  me  if  I  do  wrong,  but,  oh,  little  girl,  I 
love  you  so!"  he  cried,  and  with  reckless  happiness  took  her 
in  his  arms. 

Three  hours  later,  across  the  Scottish  border,  they  were 
married,  by  the  kilted  blacksmith-parson  at  Gretna  Green. 

When,  in  the  soft  twilight,  they  again  drew  near  Croftlaigh 
and  the  Red  Lion  Inn,  Betty  motioned  for  the  machine  in 
which  they  had  made  their  momentous  journey  to  be  stopped. 
They  alighted,  and  the  chauffeur,  grinning  a  friendly  goodbye, 
drove  away. 

"We  will  keep  our  marriage  secret,  dear,  for  a  little  while," 
Betty  said.  "I  wish  it  so.  Now  kiss  me,  and  let  me  go  until 
all  things  are  clear — my  husband." 

She  slipped  from  his  embrace  and  hurried  away  toward  the 
Red  Lion,  and  Cecil,  with  the  faith  of  unquestioning  love, 
turned  back  toward  the  house  that  awaited  its  mistress. 

Next  day  Mr.  George  Carson — "Monte"  had  seemed  to  him 
scarcely  to  harmonize  with  the  staid  English  atmosphere — 
presented  himself  at  Croftlaigh  and  was  at  once  conducted  to 
the  library.  Mr.  Carson  was  nervous,  and  the  bullying  manner 
with  which  he  attempted  to  cover  this  fact  wilted  before  the 
impersonal  blankness  of  the  gentleman  whom  Cecil  described 


LORD   CECIL  KEEPS  HIS   WORD  101 

as  a  court  official  called  in  as  a  witness,  and  the  lazy  conde 
scension  of  Lord  Cecil  himself. 

"There  is  nothing  to  discuss,"  Cecil  said  wearily.  "If  you 
have  brought  the  $25,000,  deliver  it  to  this  gentleman,  and  I 
will  give  you  an  order  for  the  mine  stock." 

For  an  instant  Carson  hesitated,  then  handed  to  the  official 
a  thick  packet  of  notes.  From  Cecil,  Carson  received  a  sheet 
of  paper  which  he  grasped  with  gleaming  eyes.  The  document 
read: 

BROWNELOWE  &  Co.,  LTD. 

BANKERS,  LONDON. 
GENTLEMEN: 

Upon  proof  of  her  identity  and  title  thereto,  you  will  deliver 
to  Elizabeth  Lee,  personally,  all  stock  of  "Golden  Hope"  mine 
held  in  my  name. 

HENRY,  LORD  CECIL. 

Into  Carson's  eyes  came  a  glare  of  bafflled  rage,  and  from 
his  lips  poured  fierce  protests. 

"His  Lordship's  action  is  quite  correct,"  the  official  said 
coldly,  "and  you,  my  man,  are  most  lucky  that  His  Lordship 
does  not  care  to  prosecute  you  for  fraud.  I  do  not  doubt  the 
courts  of  New  York  would  act  with  vigor." 

Carson  had  a  most  wholesome  respect  for  the  law  of  regions 
so  peculiar  as  to  regard  homicide  as  a  serious  crime,  and  he  now 
departed  swiftly.  Moreover,  affairs  were  not  in  so  bad  a  way, 
after  all.  He  could,  he  was  sure,  soon  acquire  possession  of  the 
Hope. 

The  next  day  a  gloomy  assemblage  was  convened  at  the 
banking  house  of  Brownelowe  and  Co.,  Ltd.  It  was  composed 
of  the  creditors  of  Lord  Cecil,  to  whom  word  had  been  given 
that  the  rosy  expectations  of  that  disappointing  nobleman  had 
again  dissolved.  They  were  awaiting  with  a  sort  of  impatient 


102       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

hopelessness  the  distribution  of  an  inadequate  sum  which  they 
understood  to  be  £5,000. 

At  length  Lord  Cecil  entered  the  room,  accompanied  by  no 
less  a  person  than  Mr.  Brownelowe  himself.  Lord  Cecil  bowed 
gravely.  The  banker  smiled  beamingly,  and  rubbed  his  hands 
benevolently. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "you  will  recall  that  some  time  ago 
Lord  Cecil  gave  you  his  word  to  marry  an  American  heiress." 

Cecil's  face  remained  unchanged,  but  for  a  tightening  of  his 
thin  lips.  The  banker  continued : 

"I  have  just  learned  that  his  word  has  been  kept.  All  who 
desire  to  do  so  may  draw  on  this  bank  for  the  full  amount  of 
their  claims  against  Lord  Cecil." 

A  quick  murmur  of  astonishment  and  satisfaction  broke  out 
in  the  crowd,  but  Cecil  touched  the  banker  on  the  arm. 

"I  am  sorry,  sir,  but  you  have  made  a  mistake.  I  did  not 
keep  my  word,"  he  said  gravely. 

"My  Lord,"  Mr.  Brownelowe  smiled,  "I  am  a  banker- 
bankers  never  make  mistakes.  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to 
accompany  me?" 

Wearily  Cecil  followed  the  banker  into  an  adjoining  office, 
and  his  eyes  lit  up  joyously  at  sight  of  Betty. 

"This  is  Lady  Cecil,  sir,"  he  said,  "but  you  have  been  mis 
informed  as  to  her  financial  status." 

Mr.  Brownelowe  chuckled. 

"My  Lord,"  he  declared,  "Brownelowe  and  Co.  is  never  mis 
informed  as  to  one's  financial  status.  Did  you,  My  Lord," 
he  questioned  whimsically,  "look  at  the  marriage  register  after 
Lady  Cecil  had  signed?  I  wager — and  bankers  always  win 
wagers — that  you  did  not.  Therefore  you  are  unaware  that 
Lady  Cecil's  maiden  name  was  Elizabeth  Lee,  and  not  Betty 
Carson,  as,  ah,  circumstances,  apparently  led  your  Lordship 
to  suppose.  Lady  Cecil  and  I" — Betty  shyly  returned  his 


LORD   CECIL  KEEPS  HIS   WORD  103 

kindly  smile — "became  friends  some  hours  ago,  when  I  declined 
to  deliver  to  Mr.  er,  Carson,  certain  mine  stock.  He,  by  the 
way,  is  doubtless  now  being  carefully  conducted  aboard  a 
steamer  and  being  informed  by  a  representative  of  Scotland 
Yard  that  the  climate  of  England  is  not  recommended  for 
persons  of  his  kind.  But  all  this  would  be  much  more  interesting 
from  Lady  Cecil,  I  am  sure,"  he  concluded  hastily,  and  beam 
ingly  withdrew. 

With  shining  eyes  Betty  came  toward  Cecil. 

"I  am  glad  we  were  married  before  you  knew  it  would  mean 
a  fortune  for  you,  beloved,"  she  whispered.  "Now  I  know  that 
you  love  me,  just  me." 

"Yes,  I  love  just  you,"  he  answered  softly.  Then  a  mis 
chievous  smile  touched  the  grave,  kindly  mouth,  and  he  added: 

"But,  at  that,  the  fortune  is  going'  to  be  jolly  handy  to  have 
around,  y'know!" 


XI 
THE  SERPENT  COMES  TO  EDEN 

Twice  since  she  had  become  Lady  Cecil  had  Betty  seen  the 
soft  summer  moon  reach  its  fullness,  spread  over  ancient 
Croftlaigh  a  mantle  of  silvern  glory,  and  work  sweet  magic  in 
her  heart,  even  as  it  had  in  a  wonderful  Garden  when  time  was 
young. 

Throwing  a  filmy  scarf  about  her  bare  shoulders,  Betty  now 
stole  out  to  the  terrace  that  overlooked  the  sunken  garden 
where  heavy-headed  roses  weighted  the  air  with  perfume.  Lean 
ing  dreamily  against  the  balustrade  was  the  figure  of  a  man, 
and  with  a  tender  smile  the  girl  moved  softly  to  his  side.  His 
hand  closed  over  hers,  as,  without  taking  his  eyes  from  the 
silent  beauty  spread  before  them,  he  quoted  softly: 

1  'The  moon  shines  bright:  in  such  a  night  as  this, 
When  the  sweet  wind  did  gently  kiss  the  trees 
And  they  did  make  no  noise,  in  such  a  night 
Troilus  methinks  mounted  the  Troyan  walls, 
And  sigh'd  his  soul  toward  the  Grecian  tents, 
Where  Cressid  lay  that  night.'  ' 

Into  the  girl's  eyes  came  a  shadow,  and  her  lips  parted  for 
a  little  wistful  sigh. 

"I — I  cannot  say  back  anything  that  would  be  pretty  and 
fine,"  she  whispered.  "Out  in  Nevada  they  thought  me  well 
educated — I  even  went  one  year  to  boarding  school  in  Den 
ver — but  I  can't  say  those  pretty  things,  as  you  do,  even  when 
I  feel  them  in  my  heart.  You  won't  ever  be  ashamed  of  me, 
will  you,  dear,  even  when  you  take  me  among  beautiful  women 
who  know  all  the  things  I  do  not?  I  think  1  would  just  die  if 
you  ceased  to  love  me,  but  if  you  were  ashamed  of  me,  that 

105 


106  THE   BELOVfiD   ADVENTURER 

would  break  my  heart,  and  that  would  be  worse  than 
dying." 

Cecil  took  her  into  his  arms  and  looked  tenderly  into  the 
wistful  eyes  raised  to  his  face. 

"Sweetheart,"  he  said  gravely,  "among  the  fairest  and  most 
brilliant  of  all  the  earth  you  would  be  to  me  as  that  moon  is 
among  the  paling  stars." 

"Then  you  will  never  regret — you  are  happy,  beloved?" 
she  murmured,  and  nestled  closer  in  his  arms. 

"Could  one  regret  entering  into  paradise?"  he  asked  ten 
derly;  "a  paradise  more  perfect  than  he  had  ever  dreamed 
might  lie  even  beyond  the  skies?  Nights  and  days  of  so  per 
fect  joy  as  to  make  one's  heart  almost  afraid 

'joy  most  like  devine 


Of  all  I  ever  dreamt  or  knew, 

To  see  thee,  hear  thee,  call  thee  mine,- 


Abruptly  he  paused  and  drew  her  closer  to  his  breast.  A 
strange  chill  seemed  to  creep  like  a  menace  into  the  perfumed 
warmth  of  the  night,  stirring  the  old  oaks  so  that  they  sighed 
that  further  line  which  he  had  thought  to  banish: 

"O,  misery!  must  I  lose  that  too?" 

The  girl  shivered  in  his  arms. 
"Let  us  go  in.    I — I  am  afraid!"  she  whispered. 
It  was  at  this  moment  that  Mr.  Monte  Carson,  for  the  second 
time,  set  foot  upon  the  shore  of  England. 

Mr.  Carson's  departure  from  the  island,  on  the  same  day 
that  Lord  Cecil  learned  that  in  following  the  dictates  of  his 
heart  he  had  won  for  his  bride  not  only  the  girl  he  loved  but  an 
American  heiress  such  as  he  had  given  his  word  to  wed,  had 
not  been  voluntary,  but  at  the  urgent  suggestion  of  a  compe 
tent  representative  of  Scotland  Yard,  and  his  temper  had  not 


THE  SERPENT  COMES  TO  EDEN  107 

been  sweetened,  nor  his  determination  to  possess  for  himself 
the  now  famous  "Golden  Hope"  mine  in  any  degree  abated. 

By  good  chance  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  two  gentlemen 
of  his  own  profession,  Messrs.  Marks  and  Badger,  who  had  on 
one  occasion  encountered  Lord  Cecil,  to  their  discomfort,  and 
from  them  obtained  letters  of  introduction  to  co-workers  in 
the  country  he  had  just  left,  the  most  consequential  being  one 
to  the  Countess  Lurovich.  Upon  landing  in  New  York,  Mr. 
Carson  promptly  changed  his  name  and  clothing,  and  pur 
chased  a  passage  on  the  next  outward-bound  steamer. 

In  the  Countess  Lurovich,  Carson  found  a  ready  confeder 
ate,  for  twice  had  the  adventuress's  schemes  been  upset  by 
Lord  Cecil,  and  her  hatred  of  the  nobleman  was  intense.  She 
still  maintained  her  country  home  at  Ashley  Grange,  which 
place,  adjoining  Cecil's  estate,  afforded  an  excellent  base  of 
operations.  Carson  was  installed  as  a  guest,  his  presence  being 
kept  a  secret,  while  the  Countess  reconnoitered  and  laid  her 
plans. 

As  the  summer  wore  on,  Betty's  happiness  became  vaguely 
clouded.  Since  her  marriage  she  had  not  left  her  new  home, 
and  the  scores  of  invitations  to  country  houses  and  Scotch 
fishings  which  had  poured  in  after  the  public  announcement 
that  once  more  a  mistress  ruled  at  Croftlaigh,  had,  at  Cecil's 
suggestion,  been  declined.  To  Betty  it  seemed  incredible  that 
one  who  might  walk  with  the  most  noble  and  famous  and  re 
ceive  the  homage  granted  high  birth  and  present  wealth  should 
by  preference  absent  himself  from  what  she  romantically 
fancied  to  be  a  world  of  joyous  splendor.  It  was  not  possible 
for  her  still  child-like  heart  to  see  life  through  Cecil's  disillu 
sioned  eyes,  or  to  understand  that  these  Arcadian  days  were 
to  him  of  so  perfect  a  happiness  that  the  suggestion  of  exchang 
ing  them  for  the  banal  artificialities  of  "society"  seemed  a  prof 
anation.  It  was  not  on  her  own  account,  but  on  Cecil's,  that 


108       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

her  eyes  grew  troubled  as  the  secluded  life  continued.  Was  it 
that  he  was  ashamed  to  present  her  to  the  people  of  his  class? 
This  was  the  thought  that  from  an  intangible  beginning  grew 
to  be  a  haunting  shadow.  More  and  more  frequently  she  stole 
away  from  the  old  house,  to  wander  alone  in  the  blossoming 
fields. 

It  was  on  such  a  roaming  expedition  that  Betty  encountered 
the  Countess  Lurovich,  who,  at  sight  of  her,  advanced  smilingly. 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  missed  my  way — can  you  indicate  the 
most  direct  route  to  Ashley  Grange?"  she  said. 

Betty  shook  her  head. 

"No — I  guess  not.  I  don't  yet  know  this  range  very  well, 
myself,"  she  responded  with  the  frank  friendliness  of  her 
Western  land.  "It  lies  off  this  way,  but  that  is  all  I  know." 

The  Countess  surveyed  her  with  friendly  insolence. 

"Oh,  I  see — you  are  a  stranger.  A  new  servant  at  Croft- 
laigh,  I  presume?" 

The  girl's  face  did  not  change,  but  the  Countess'  keen  eyes 
noted  with  satisfaction  the  tinge  of  added  color  that  crept 
into  her  cheeks. 

"I  am  Lady  Cecil,  madam,"  Betty  said  quietly. 

"My  dear  child,  forgive  me!"  the  Countess  cried  with  per 
fect  simulation  of  embarrassed  confusion.  "One  is  so  apt  to 
be  misled  by  appearances — that  is,  I  should  say,  I  had  fancied 
Lady  Cecil — er,  older,  y'know.  You  must  really  pardon  me — 
Lord  Cecil  would  never  forgive  such  a  silly  mistake,  and  we've 
been  awf'lly  good  friends  for  the  longest!  I  am  the  Countess 
Lurovich,  y'know,  and  I've  told  Henry — Lord  Cecil  I  should 
say — not  less  than  a  dozen  times  within  the  past  month  to 
bring  you  over  whenever  he  is  dropping  in  for  tea,  but  he 
always  makes  some  silly  excuse!  You  won't  mention  my  meet 
ing  you  and  making  such  an  absurd  mistake,  will  you,  my  dear 
child?" 


THE   SERPENT  COMES  TO  EDEN  109 

"No,  I  will  not  mention  the  incident,"  Betty  responded 
gravely.  "I  am  sorry  I  can  not  direct  you  to  your  path.  Good 
afternoon,"  she  added,  and  hurried  away  that  the  other  woman 
might  not  see  the  tears  of  mortification  that  she  could  no  longer 
restrain. 

Smiling  with  satisfaction  the  Countess  strolled  through  a 
plantation  of  young  trees  and  joined  the  waiting  Mr.  Carson. 

"The  game  is  well  begun,"  she  said,  "and  if  I  know  anything 
of  character,  it  will  be  short.  That  little  chit  is  a  fool,  but  a 
proud  one." 

"She  won't  be  so  proud  when  I've  finished  with  her,"  Carson 
grunted  maliciously.  "And  the  thing  can't  be  ended  up  any  too 
soon  for  me,"  he  added  glumly.  "I  ain't  what  you  would  call 
enjoyin'  myself,  duckin'  around  through  ths  hedges  in  this 
here  ready-to-wear  country.  Is  that  maid  of  Betty's  all  fixed?" 

"The  maid  can  be  depended  upon, "the  Countess  assured  him. 
"This  very  evening  she  shall  play  her  little  part  in  the  comedy. 
I  will  instruct  Lemoine  at  once  to  write  a  suitable  letter,  and 
will  wire  to  town  for  the  actor  of  whom  I  spoke — I  have  been 
at  some  pains  to  keep  him  from  securing  an  engagement  in  his 
regular  line — he  is  a  very  good  actor." 

"All  right,  then.  An'  you'll  be  well  paid  for  your  trouble 
when  the  thing  is  all  fixed — don't  you  worry  about  that," 
Carson  declared. 

"I  am  usually  well  paid,"  the  Countess  observed  dryly. 

For  a  long  while  after  she  left  the  Countess,  Betty  wandered 
miserably,  unable  to  return  to  the  old  house  that  had  shel 
tered  her  now  dead  happiness.  Her  proud  little  soul  had  suf 
fered  a  terrible  wound — all  her  vague  fancies  had  been  crystal 
lized  into  a  sickening  fact — that  Cecil  was  ashamed  of  her,  and, 
since  this  Countess  who  was  his  intimate  friend  had  mistaken 
her  for  a  servant,  he  was  undoubtedly  justified.  That — as 
she  was  convinced  he  did — Cecil  still  loved  her,  took  nothing 


110       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

from  her  bitterness,  but  rather  was  an  added  shame.  That 
he  should  love  one  whom  he  could  not  proudly  present  to  all 
the  world  but  must  fondle  in  secret  degraded  and  tarnished 
that  love.  Yet,  after  all,  perhaps  she  was  mistaken — perhaps 
supersensativeness  exaggerated  trifles  and  misunderstood  what 
were  merely  the  habits  of  a  society  with  which  she  was  unac 
quainted.  She  would  wait  for  further  proof  before  allow 
ing  the  joy  of  life  to  be  strangled  by  this  thing.  With  that  de 
termination,  Betty  returned  to  the  manor  house.  As  she  hurried 
to  her  room  to  dress  for  dinner,  James,  the  faithful  valet,  in 
tercepted  her. 

"If  your  Ladyship  pleases, "he  said,  "My  Lord  Cecil  directed 
me  to  say  that  he  would  not  return  to  dinner — he  was  suddenly 
called  to  Cantlebury  in  a  matter  of  some  'ampers  of  game 
thought  to  have  been  poached  from  Croftlaigh  covers,  and 
Your  Ladyship  couldn't  be  located  before  he  left." 

"Very  well,  James,"  Betty  said,  with  a  sudden  sense  of  lone 
liness.  "They  need  not  serve  dinner.  Have  some  tea  brought 
to  the  library." 

James  bowed,  but  with  troubled  face,  for  he  loved  this  young 
mistress. 

"If  I  might  make  so  bold,  My  Lady,"  he  said  diffidently, 
"the  cook  will  be  rare  disappointed.  'E  read  in  Tit-Bits  as  'ow 
in  America  no  one  ever  ate  anything  but  fried  beefsteak  and 
prunes,  and  he  has  prepared  some — 'e  found  out  how  to  do  it 
by  writing  to  a  cousin  in  St.  Louis,  America — as  a  surprise 
for  Your  Ladyship." 

Betty  smiled. 

"You  will  thank  the  cook,  James,  and  tell  him  he  must  pre 
pare  me  an  American  dinner  some  other  time — tonight  I  am 
not  hungry,"  she  said  gently,  and  passed  on  to  the  old  library. 

Rather  listlessly  Betty  sank  into  the  chair  in  front  of  Lord 
Cecil's  writing  table,  and  rested  her  chin  upon  her  clasped 


Cecil's  face  grew  white  as  his  eyes  flashed  over  the  tear-blotted  page.' 


James — Edward  McLauchlin. 


THE  SERPENT  COMES  TO  EDEN  111 

hands.  Presently  she  became  aware  that  she  was  subconsci 
ously  reading  what  lay  under  her  eyes — the  second  sheet  of 
an  unfinished  letter,  in  her  husband's  hand,  left  carelessly 
upon  the  desk.  Before  she  realized,  her  brain  had  taken  the 
meaning  from  her  eyes. 

" a  good  business  preposition,  anyway,  as  it  turns  out. 

She  has  a  million  dollars,  you  know.  Of  course  1  can't  present 

such  a  little  Wild  West  savage  to  my  friends ."  The 

writing  stopped  abruptly,  as  though  the  writer  had  been  inter 
rupted. 

Betty  rose  stiffly,  her  face  white. 

"There  can  be  no  further  doubt,"  she  whispered,  and  made 
her  way  slowly  toward  her  bedroom. 

No  sooner  had  Betty  left  the  library  than  a  pair  of  curtains 
parted  cautiously,  a  maid  stole  into  the  room,  quickly  removed 
the  paper  from  the  desk,  and  hurried  out. 

Early  the  following  morning  Lord  Cecil  again  departed  for 
Cantlebury,  in  connection  with  the  poached  game,  and  Betty 
hurried  into  the  open,  as  had  always  been  her  wont  when  her 
heart  was  burdened.  She  felt  that  she  must  reach  some  decis 
ion — she  could  not  continue  to  live  in  the  humiliating  posi 
tion  of  a  wife  of  whom  the  husband  was  ashamed. 

As  she  turned  the  corner  of  a  lane,  Betty  was  astonished  to 
come  face  to  face  with  Mr.  Monte  Carson,  who  greeted  her  with 
a  smile  of  mingled  affection  and  sympathy. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  the  girl  demanded  coldly. 

Mr.  Carson  appeared  grieved. 

"For  what  would  I  be  here,  except  to  help  you,  Betty?"  he 
asked  in  reply. 

"To  help  me — that  is  likely!"  the  girl  laughed  bitterly. 
"Have  you  discovered  that  I  am  the  owner  of  another  mine 
which  you  wish  to  steal?" 

He  looked  at  her  reproachfully. 


112       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"Betty,"  he  said  gravely,  "I  know  I've  done  some  crooked 
things  in  my  life,  but  I  always  done  the  best  I  could  by  you, 
an*  I've  come  back  here  to  prove  I'm  a  friend  and  don't  bear 
no  hard  feelings,  even  after  the  way  you  turned  on  me  for  the 
sake  of  your  husband.  I  was  only  tryin'  to  take  care  of  you, 
Betty." 

Despite  her  judgment,  Betty's  heart  softened.  Whatever  had 
been  his  motives,  this  man  had  in  his  way  been  good  to  her — 
he  was  the  only  one  who  had  ever  cared  whether  she  lived  or 
died,  went  shelterless  or  slept  beneath  a  roof.  Since  her  early 
childhood  he  had  assumed  the  place  of  her  father,  and  the 
thought-habits  of  youth  are  not  easily  broken. 

"You — your  actions  looked  pretty  bad,  Monte,"  she  said 
slowly.  "I  did  not  mean  to  be  unjust,  ever,  but  you  had  given 
me  cause  to  distrust  you.  What  is  it  you  have  to  say  now?" 

"I  know  you  are  proud,  Betty,  but  I  want  you  to  hear  me 
out,"  Carson  told  her.  He  seemed  to  ponder  what  would  be 
the  least  painful  words,  and  then  continued: 

"Pretty  soon  after  I  got  back  to  New  York  I  met  a  man  who 
knew  all  about  Lord  Cecil — and  what  I  heard  brought  me  back 
here  as  quick  as  I  could  come.  He  hasn't  played  square  with 
you  Betty.  He " 

Betty's  eyes  flashed  fiercely. 

"I  will  hear  nothing  against  my  husband,"  she  said  quietly. 

"Where  is  he  today?"  Carson  asked,  with  a  sudden  change 
of  tone. 

"He  has  gone  to  Cantlebury,"  the  girl  replied  shortly.  "What 
of  it?" 

"He  has  not  gone  to  Cantlebury — he  is  with  the  Countess 
Lurovich,  as  he  is  almost  every  day,"  Carson  announced 
calmly.  "It  hasn't  taken  me  many  days  to  get  a  line  on  your 
nobleman.  Not  only  is  he  ashamed  of  you,  but  he  is  making 
love  to  another  woman." 


THE  SERPENT  COMES  TO  EDEN  113 

Every  sign  of  color  drained  slowly  from  Betty's  face,  and  her 
soft  lips  closed  in  a  hard  line. 

"Did  I  ever  break  my  word,  Monte?"  she  asked  softly. 

"You  shore  never  did,  Betty,"  Carson  declared  gravely. 

"Then  listen.  If  you  have  lied  to  me,  I  swear  I  will  kill  you 
as  I  would  a  rattler.  I  must  know  the  truth,  now,  and  all  of  it." 

"I'm  plumb  sorry,  Betty,"  Carson  said  sympathetically, 
"I  shore  am,  but  there  ain't  no  doubt.  Come  with  me." 

In  silence  they  walked  rapidly  along  a  mile  of  hedge-walled 
lanes.  Presently  they  drew  near  the  small  stream  that  was 
the  boundary  between  Croftlaigh  and  Ashley  Grange,  and 
Carson,  drawing  the  girl  into  the  shelter  of  a  clump  of  shrub 
bery,  pointed  to  the  opposite  bank.  Strolling  in  lover-like  con 
verse  were  two  figures,  one  the  unmistakable  figure  of  Lord 
Cecil,  the  other  the  Countess  Lurovich.  Even  as  Betty  watched 
with  burning  eyes,  the  woman  paused  and  raised  her  face,  and 
the  man  crushed  her  in  his  arms  as  he  pressed  his  lips  to  hers. 

Betty  drew  back  without  a  word,  and  walked  away.  Carson, 
with  a  triumphant  smile  hurried  after  her. 

"You  wont  want  to  stay,  I  reckon,  Betty,"  he  said  as  he 
overtook  her.  She  did  not  raise  her  eyes,  but  nodded. 

"No-     I  will  go  away,"  she  said  dully. 

"I  knew  you  would.  I'm  goin'  to  look  out  for  you,  little 
girl.  I  reckon  you  don't  want  to  see  him  before  you  go," 
Carson  suggested. 

"No,  I  do  not  wish  to  see  him,"  she  replied  in  the  same 
lifeless  voice,  so  unlike  her  own.  "Please  take  me  away  now, 
Monte." 

"All  right,  Betty,  you  can  count  on  old  Monte,"  he  said 
soothingly.  "Everything  is  fixed — I  knew  you'd  want  to  go. 
Just  you  slip  into  the  house  and  get  your  things,  and  I'll  meet 
you  at  the  foot  of  the  drive  in  half  an  hour,  with  a  machine. 
Don't  you  care — he^ain't  worth  it." 


114       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

At  the  same  moment  the  Countess  Lurovich  was  looking  up 
archly  into  the  eyes  of  a  man  whose  clothing  duplicated  that 
worn  by  Lord  Cecil  that  day  and  whose  figure  was  identical. 
His  face  was  carefully  and  expertly  made  up  to  a  portrait-like 
reproduction  of  the  features  of  the  nobleman. 

"Do  you  always  put  so  much  spirit  into  your  acting,  M. 
Devoeux?"  the  Countess  laughed.  "My  lips  are  crushed! 
Not  quite,  as  yet — ." 

The  actor  swore  softly  as  Carson's  hurried  entrance  inter 
rupted  the  little  scene. 

"It's  all  fixed,"  Carson  informed  the  Countess  with  savage 
satisfaction.  "I'll  take  the  machine  and  pick  her  up  at  the 
end  of  the  drive,  and  if  ever  that  staring  fool  sets  eyes  on  her 
again,  I  hope  to  be  shot  for  a  Greaser!" 

"You  very  probably  will  be  shot  for  yourself  if  ever  he  sets 
eyes  on  you,  my  friend."  the  Countess  commented,  "so  see  to 
it  that  he  doesn't." 

An  hour  later  a  motor  was  speeding  swiftly  toward  White- 
haven.  In  it  sat  Betty,  with  pale,  drawn  fare,  and  M?.  Monte 
Carson,  on  whose  vindictive  and  greedy  features  was  a  grin  of 
gratified  triumph. 

It  was  near  the  dinner  hour  win  n  Lord  Cecil  returned  from 
Cantlebury,  where  the  matter  of  the  poached  game  had  been 
finally  concluded,  and  with  an  eager  light  in  his  eyes  hurried 
into  the  manor  house.  As  he  moved  toward  the  stair,  James 
came  quietly  forwa-rd  and  stopped  him  with  a  bow. 

"Her  Ladyship  has  gone  out,  My  Lord,"  he  said,  and  in  the 
man's  voice  Cecil  caught  a  troubled  note.  "She  left  a  note  in 
the  library.  My  Lord." 

With  a  vague  sensation  of  impending  disaster  Cecil  hurried 
to  the  dim  old  room  and  ripped  open  the  envelope  lying  upon 
his  writing  table.  His  face  grew  white  as  his  eyes  flashed  over 
the  tear-blotted  page. 


THE  SERPENT  COMES  TO  EDEN  115 

"Beloved,"  he  read,  and  seemed  to  hear  the  soft  caressing 
voice  that  was  used  to  whisper  the  endearment  in  his  ear.  "I 
have  gone  away,  and  you  will  never  see  me  again.  I  know 
that  you  love  another,  and  that  you  are  ashamed  of  me.  I 
tried  so  hard  to  make  you  happy.  There  is  but  one  thing 
more  I  can  do  for  you.  You  will  find  in  the  safe  a  deed  of 
gift  for  the  'Golden  Hope.'  I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy. 
You  did  love  me  a  little,  for  a  time,  did  you  not,  my  husband? 
Goodbye." 

And  then  at  the  end,  the  little  scrawl,  "Betty." 

Slowly  Lord  Cecil  placed  the  note  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat. 

"I  will  find  you,  my  own,  though  it  be  at  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  and  shut  you  up  in  my  heart,"  he  whispered.  "And  as 
for  whosoever  has  done  this  thing " 

The  words  were  checked,  but  in  his  smouldering  eyes  was 
death. 


XII 

FATE'S  TANGLED  THREADS 

Suddenly,  as  the  sunshine  of  a  day  in  June  may  be  blotted 
out  by  the  thunder-cloud  that  rolls  inward  from  the  sea,  the 
joyousness  that  had  lighted  up  the  ancient  halls  of  Croftlaigh 
was  smothered  beneath  a  pall  of  sorrow  and  mysterious  fear. 
The  servants,  who  had  quickly  come  to  love  the  young  mistress 
who  brought  to  the  old  Manor  happiness  and  prosperity,  when 
both  had  long  been  absent,  moved  about  silently,  and  questioned 
each  other  with  frightened  eyes,  for  none  knew  or  could  guess 
the  nature  of  the  calamity  that  had  befallen,  and  not  even 
James  dared  to  mention  to  the  haggard  master  the  name  of 
the  vanished  mistress.  All  day  long  Lord  Cecil,  with  blank 
and  drawn  face,  sat  in  his  library,  and  telegraph  messengers 
came  and  went  ceaselessly,  as  well  as  men  whose  brisk  steps 
and  sharp,  cold  glances  were  evidence  to  the  observing  of  their 
trade.  But  one  order  had  been  issued  to  the  domestics — that 
absolute  silence  concerning  affairs  at  Croftlaigh  should  be 
preserved,  and  so  well  had  the  veil  of  secrecy  been  maintained, 
that  no  hint  had  reached  the  world  that  Lady  Betty  Cecil  had 
disappeared. 

Almost  heartbroken,  tormented  by  fear  of  what  might  have 
befallen  the  girl,  absolutely  without  clue  to  her  intentions  or 
whereabouts,  knowing  only,  through  the  confession  of  the 
maid,  that  Betty  had  been  the  victim  of  a  malignant  conspiracy 
engineered  by  the  Countess  Lurovich,  Lord  Cecil  was  forced 
to  an  agonizing  inactivity,  while  a  score  of  the  best  private  de 
tectives  in  England  maintained  a  relentless  but  fruitless  search. 

Since  the  hour  of  her  flight  from  Croftlaigh,  following  what 

117 


118       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

she  believed  to  be  the  discovery  of  the  fact  that  Cecil  not  only 
did  not  love  her,  but  regarded  her  as  a  cause  for  shame,  to  be 
hidden  from  his  world,  Betty  had  been  sunk  in  the  apathy  of 
utter  misery.  Her  fate  was  to  her  a  matter  of  complete  in 
difference,  and  without  interest  or  question  she  allowed  herself 
to  be  borne  away  by  the  gloating  Mr.  Carson,  whose  satisfac 
tion  at  the  thought  that  he  would  soon  have  in  his  control  the 
"Golden  Hope"  was  scarcely  less  than  that  he  would  wreak  a 
deadly  revenge  upon  Lord  Cecil,  and  that  Betty,  whom  he 
regarded  as  a  traitor  and  ingrate  and  hated  with  all  the  malice 
of  which  his  mean  soul  was  capable,  was  now  completely  in  his 
power.  It  was  his  full  intention,  once  the  mine  was  safely 
and  finally  in  his  possession,  to  abandon  her  to  the  most  terrible 
fate  he  could  provide.  Meanwhile,  he  played  to  perfection  the 
part  of  the  faithful  and  forgiving  protector — played  it  so  well 
that  Betty,  her  mind  dulled  by  grief,  accepted  him  as  she  had 
when  a  child,  as  a  kind  foster-father,  and  reproached  herself 
that  she  had  ever  doubted  him.  She  took  no  note  of  the 
country  through  which  the  speeding  car  passed,  nor  did  she 
trouble  to  ask  the  name  of  the  city  which  they  presently  en 
tered — Whitehaven.  Neither  did  she  concern  herself  that  the 
mean  little  hotel  to  which  Carson  proceeded  directly,  and 
where  they  were  evidently  expected,  was  situated  in  a  section 
along  the  waterfront  which  eveu  a  stranger  would  have  recog 
nized  as  a  region  of  sordid  poverty  and  a  breeding  place  of 
crime.  Once  within  this  house,  Betty  was,  though  unaware 
of  the  fact,  a  closely  guarded  prisoner.  Believing  that  all 
regular  transportation  routes  would  be  watched,  it  was  Carson's 
intention  to  remain  in  hiding  for  a  while,  and  then  with  Betty 
steal  away  on  some  tramp  vessel  of  such  character  that 
motives  and  methods  of  passengers  would  not  be  questioned. 
Such  an  one,  he  had  been  informed,  was  almost  ready  i.  to  put 
to  sea.  Meanwhile  he  set  himself  to  the  task  of  fixing  in  Betty's 


FATE'S    TANGLED    THREADS  119 

mind  the  idea  that,  while  he  would  otherwise  be  rejoiced  at  her 
leaving  him,  Lord  Cecil  would,  for  the  sake  of  her  fortune,  make 
desperate  efforts  to  find  her  and  drag  her  back  to  lead  the 
humiliating  existence  cf  a  despised  and  hidden  wife. 

"No,  he  wouldn't  want  me  back- -there  would  be  no  need," 
Betty  said  dully.  "I  left  for  him  all  he  wanted  of  me — the 
'Golden  Hope.'" 

It  required  all  his  gambler's  training  to  keep  the  panic,  fury 
and  greed  which  suddenly  swept  through  Carson  from  being 
mirrored  in  his  face  and  sounding  in  his  voice.  Betty,  sitting 
with  bowed  head,  did  not  observe  the  struggle,  or  the  pause 
before  he  said  in  an  easy  manner: 

"Left  him  the  'Hope'?     What  do  you  mean,  Betty?" 

The  girl  did  not  raise  her  eyes. 

"I  left  it  for  him,"  she  responded,  "because  I  loved  him.  I 
gave  it  to  him.  I  left  a  deed  of  gift,  and  an  order  to  the  bank. 
I  didn't  want  it — what  would  a  fortune  do  for  me,  since  it  did 
not  secure  the  only  thing  in  all  the  world  I  desired — his  love?" 

It  was  a  frightful  blow  to  Carson  to  learn  that,  instead  of 
being  a  millionairess,  Betty  had  made  herself  penniless,  yet  the 
mind  of  the  most  successful  confidence  man  in  Nevada  worked 
swiftly,  and  in  an  instant  was  engaged  in  rearranging  his  plans. 
No  longer  valuable  for  herself,  Betty  might  still  be  worth  much 
for  what  she  would  bring.  Lord  Cecil  loved  her,  and  would 
strip  himself  of  his  wealth  in  order  to  regain  her.  Obviously, 
therefore,  the  thing  to  do  was  to  get  to  a  remote  and  safe  place, 
and  hold  Betty  for  ransom.  Meanwhile,  she  must  be  duped 
into  believing  that  secrecy  and  flight  were  necessary.  Mr. 
Carson  assumed  a  sympathetic  manner. 

"Never  you  mind,  Betty,"  he  said  soothingly.  "Old  Monte 
always  has  stood  by  you,  and  he  won't  quit  you  now.  We  got 
to  be  mighty  careful,  though,  and  slip  out  of  this  country  first 
chance  we  get.  You  wouldn't  wrant  him  to  make  you  go  back 


120       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

and  live  at  Croftlaigh,  knowin'  how  he  feels  about  you,  would 
you,  now?" 

"I  would  rather  die!"  the  girl  cried  bitterly. 

'  'Course  you  would — any  girl  with  a  mite  o'  pride  would!" 
Mr.  Carson  agreed.  "But,"  he  addei,  "this  here  Lord  Cecil, 
the  way  I  figure  it,  would  rather  have  you  there — keep  you  hid 
down  in  the  country  while  he  galavants  all  around — than  have 
folks  ask  where  is  his  wife  and  he  not  be  able  to  say.  Sure  as  a 
gun's  iron,  he'll  try  to  find  you  and  make  you  go  back,  and  now 
that  you  know  all  about  the  way  he  carries  on,  he  wont  take 
the  trouble  to  hide  it,  like  he  done  before." 

She  looked  at  him  with  miserable  appeal. 

"Then  he  mustn't  find  me,  Monte,"  she  said  miserably. 
"I  couldn't,  I  couldn't  stand  it,  to  have  him  look  at  me,  and 
feel  that  he  despised  me!" 

"That'll  be  all  right  then,"  Mr.  Carson  told  her,  with  inward 
satisfaction  and  outward  sympathy.  "I  wont  let  him  find  you, 
if  you  just  stay  here  in  your  room  till  I  get  things  fixed  for  us 
to  slip  away.  You  better  get  rid  of  them  clothes — there  might 
be  a  description  out.  Give  'em  to  the  maid.  I'll  buy  you  a 
suit  that'll  stand  travel  better." 

"All  right,  Monte,"  Betty  responded  wearily. 

The  days  dragged  miserably  along  at  Croftlaigh,  with  no 
word  of  the  vanished  mistress,  though  Cecil  had  increased  to 
£5,000  the  reward  offered  for  information  as  to  her  whereabouts, 
and  there  was  no  reasonable  doubt  that  she  was  still  in  England; 
as  Carson  had  surmised,  every  passenger  steamer  sailing  from 
the  kingdom  had  been  watched.  Slowly  the  horrible  thought 
that  she  might  be  dead  began  to  force  itself  upon  Cecil,  leaving 
him  pallid  with  silent  agony.  As  he  sat  thus,  waiting  for  the 
news  that  did  not  come,  a  sudden  commotion  outside  the  house 
caused  him  to  spring  to  his  feet,  every  nerve  tense.  An  instant 


FATE'S    TANGLED    THREADS  121 

later  there  burst  into  the  room  an  aged  woman  whom  he  recog 
nized  as  the  holder  of  one  of  the  ancient  cottages  of  his  estate, 
and  who  cast  at  his  feet  the  bundle  of  unthreshed  grain  which 
she  carried,  and  fell  upon  her  knees. 

"Succor,  Lord!  The  Sword  of  Swarthmore  is  Croftlaigh's 
Shield!"  she  cried,  and,  instinctively,  as  had  done  his  fathers 
for  six  hundred  years,  the  eighteenth  Earl  of  Swarthmore 
placed  his  hand  upon  her  head,  and  responded  as  they  had  done 
to  the  feudal  appeal: 

"Swarthmore  shields!  In  seed,  in  stalk,  in  ear  and  sheaf,  the 
Croftlaigh  corn  is  mine  to  keep.  Speak  on." 

It  was  a  commonplace  tale,  to  tell  which  the  old  woman  had 
invoked  the  ancient  right  of  Croftlaigh's  people  to  instant 
speech  with  their  overlord — Meg,  the  old  woman's  daughter, 
had  been  stolen  away.  Lured  and  coaxed  by  an  artful  stranger, 
she  had  jilted  Ned  Alwine,  a  Croftlaigh  man  and  Cecil's 
chauffeur,  and  had  promised  to  run  away,  but  at  the  last 
moment  her  fears  and  conscience  had  triumphed,  and  she  had 
refused.  Then  the  stranger  and  another  had  seized  upon  her, 
by  force  had  dragged  her,  struggling  and  crying,  to  the  waiting 
motor  car,  and  sped  away. 

Cecil  recalled  the  girl — sweet  and  fair  as  a  hawthorne  bud, 
with  the  clean  heart  and  gentle  ways  of  the  maidens  who  glean 
in  the  Westmoreland  fields.  His  eyes  blazed  with  sudden  fire. 
"Touch  not  the  Croftlaigh  maids,"  was  a  saying  when  the 
men-at-arms  of  raiding  barons  were  wont  to  give  each  other 
good  advice  some  centuries  before. 

"By  force  they  took  her?"  he  demanded. 

"I  swear  it,  My  Lord!  The  child  fought,  and  cried  to  me — and 
I  could  not  save  her!  The  west  road  they  went,  My  Lord!" 

Cecil  turned  away  sharply. 

"The  motor  at  once!"  he  ordered,  and  James,  who  had  not 
dared  prevent  the  entrance  of  one  bearing  the  symbol  of  the 


Iv2       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

unthie-,htd  grain,  but  who  had  hovered  uneasily  in  the  back 
ground,  hurried  to  transmit  the  order. 

"Be  comforted.  The  maid  shall  come  back  to  you,  un 
harmed,"  Lord  Cecil  said,  and  strode  out,  leaving  the  old 
woman  muttering  blessings. 

For  the  time  being,  Cecil's  own  sorrows  were  forgotten. 
The  traditions  and  instincts  handed  down  through  the  ages 
had  cast  their  commands  upon  him — to  abandon  all  else  until 
he  had  rendered  the  protection  demanded  of  his  lordship, 
though  the  one  in  peril  might  be  the  meanest  of  his  vassals. 
Not  five  minutes  had  elapsed  before  Lord  Cecil's  motor  was 
roaring  along  the  road  toward  the  coast,  with  white  faced  Ned 
Alwine  gripping  the  wheel. 

Mile  after  mile  the  chase  continued  without  the  quarry  being 
once  sighted,  but  at  each  village  and  hamlet  Cecil  was  told  that 
a  speeuii  a  car  had  preceeded  him — by  a  quarter  hour — by  ten 
minutes—  by  five  minutes.  Fast  as  the  fugitives  were  moving, 
they  were  being  overtaken.  In  Kenswick  an  outraged  con 
stable  pointed  to  the  dust  that  hung  in  the  air,  and  by  Derwent 
Water  the  machine  was  in  sight,  and  evidently  aware  that  it 
WPS  being  pursued,  for  its  speed  was  increased.  Slowly, 
however,  the  distance  between  the  racing  cars  was  cut  down 
until  not  more  than  fifty  yards  intervened.  Suddenly  one  of 
the  occupants  of  the  leading  machine  rose,  knelt  upon  the  seat 
and  rapidly  emptied  a  revolver.  Cecil  could  hear  the  bullets 
humming  harmlessly  above  his  head.  One,  however,  was  not 
high,  but  found  its  mark  and  the  speeding  machine  yawed 
wildly  as  the  tire  exploded.  A  yell  of  triumph  came  back  as 
the  fleeing  car  disappeared  over  the  next  hilltop. 

Despite  the  delay  necessary  to  change  the  tire,  the  pusuit 
remained  a  hot  one,  though  the  quarry  was  not  again  sighted 
until  the  suburbs  of  Whitehaven  were  reached  and  speed  was 
reduced  to  the  legal  requirements,  the  abductors  not  daring  to 


FATE'S    TANGLED    THREADS  123 

risk  attracting  the  attention  of  the  police,  and  perhaps  thinking 
Lord  Cecil  had  not  been  able  to  make  up  the  time  lost.  Before 
the  latter  could  close  up,  they  were  in  the  heavy  traffic  of  the 
city,  and  it  was  only  possible  to  keep  the  fugitives  in  sight. 

At  length  the  chase  drew  into  the  squalid  region  near  the 
waterfront,  and  Cecil  turned  a  corner  just  in  time  to  see  the 
form  of  a  girl  lifted  from  the  machine  and  borne  quickly  into  a 
small  and  repellent  hotel  by  the  man  who  had  used  his  revolver, 
the  car  itself  moving  swiftly  away. 

Followed  by  Ned  Alwine,  Cecil  dashed  into  the  forbidding 
house,  unopposed,  and,  following  the  sound  of  stumbling  foot 
steps,  climbed  to  the  second  story,  gaining  the  head  of  the  stair 
quickly  enough  to  note  the  room  into  which  the  girl  they  sought 
was  carried.  As  they  burst  open  the  door,  the  abductor 
crashed  through  the  window,  in  frantic  determination  to  escape. 
The  girl  Meg  lay  where  she  had  been  dropped  upon  the  floor. 

"Take  her  up  and  carry  her  to  the  car,"  Cecil  ordered,  and 
sprang  to  the  window,  which  looked  directly  upon  the  wharves. 
The  abductor  had  disappeared,  but  Cecil  caught  his  breath 
chokingly  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  another  figure.  Betty  was 
just  seating  herself  in  a  shabby  motorboat,  into  which  Carson 
also  was  lowering  himself. 

"Betty!"  Cecil  cried  wildly,  and  for  an  instant  the  girl  raised 
her  eyes  to  his,  then  quickly  turned  her  head.  Carson,  with  a 
startled  oath,  spoke  sharp'y  to  his  ruffianly  pilot,  and  the  next 
instant  the  motorboat  shot  away  from  the  shore. 

Cecil  was  hah*  out  of  the  window  before  Ned  Alwine's  re 
straining  grasp  fell  upon  him. 

"Don't,  M'Lud!"  the  man  implored;  "It  is  too  'igh!  Take 
the  stair,  M'Lud!" 

Cecil  stared  dazedly  for  an  instant,  then  turned  his  eyes 
toward  Meg. 

"Take_the  girl  home!"  he  ordered,  and  dashed  from  the  room 


124       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"Aye,  I'll  take  thee  home,  lassie,  and  God  be  thanked  thee's 
saved  to  me,"  Ned  muttered,  and  raised  the  girl  in  his  arms. 
Her  eyes  suddenly  opened  wide  with  terror,  but  closed  in  con 
tent  when  they  had  rested  upon  the  kindly  face  bent  low  above 
her  own. 

"I  knew  thee'd  come,  Ned,"  the  girl  murmured  softly. 
"Kiss  me,  laddie,  for  thou  art  my  own  true  love,  and  I  will  be 
a  good  wife  to  thee  if  thou  art  still  of  mind  to  wed." 

It  was  a  matter  of  but  moments  before  Lord  Cecil  had  left 
the  house  and  reached  the  dock  at  the  rear,  but  already  the 
motorboat  had  disappeared  in  the  crowded  shipping  and  the 
growing  darkness. 


XIII 
THROUGH  DESPERATE  HAZARDS 

Night  settled  swiftly  over  the  harbor  of  Whitehaven,  making 
mystery  and  fairyland  of  the  dark  water  and  crowded  shipping 
on  which  the  riding-lights  were  already  gleaming.  Here  and 
there  motorboats  moved  swiftly,  but  whether  any  one  of  these 
was  the  one  in  which  he  had  seen  the  wife  who  was  blindly 
fleeing  from  his  love,  Lord  Cecil's  straining  sight  could  not 
determine.  Effort  seemed  futile,  yet  inactivity  was  impossible, 
and  without  any  coherent  idea,  he  left  the  pierhead  on  which 
he  had  stood  in  agonized  uncertainty  and  hurried  along  the 
line  of  deserted  wharves. 

Suddenly  Cecil's  searching  eyes  fastened  upon  the  figure  of 
a  woman,  near  the  end  of  one  of  the  piers,  silhouetted  darkly 
against  the  faint  glow  that  still  lingered  in  the  sky  above  the 
Irish  Sea,  and  his  heart  leaped  as  for  an  instant  longing  gave 
color  to  actuality  and  the  stranger  appeared  in  the  shape  of 
Betty.  A  moment  later  he  realized  his  mistake  and  was  about 
to  hurry  on  when  some  unaccountable  impulse  caused  him  to 
turn  sharply  and  move  swiftly  but  silently  toward  the  woman, 
who  was  oblivious  to  his  approach.  As  he  drew  near,  he  could 
see  that  she  was  no  longer  young,  and  weeping  had  disfigured 
her  patient,  lined  face.  The  neat,  cheap  garments  of  a  past 
fashion  marked  her  as  of  the  fiercely  respectable  and  finan 
cially  pinched  middle  class — a  teacher  of  music,  or  the  keeper 
of  a  notion  shop  possibly,  in  some  country  town.  She  was 
praying  silently,  with  clinched  hands  and  tightly  shut  eyes. 
Suddenly,  with  a  gasp  of  terror,  she  stepped  to  the  edge  of 
the  planking,  and  for  an  instant  wavered  on  the  brink  below 

*  125 


126       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

which  the  black  water  lapped  sullenly  against  the  piles.     With 
a  flash  of  comprehension,  Cecil  leaped  forward. 

In  all  the  forty  years  of  her  drab-colored  life  nothing  of 
poetry  or  romance  had  come  to  Sarah  Gray.  Sunshine  itself 
seemed  to  stagnate  in  the  dull  little  town,  and  the  souls  of  the 
villagers  were  as  cramped  and  prosaic  as  the  existence  they  led. 
No  one  remembered  that  Sarah  Gray  had  once  been  a  girl,  or 
could  have  dreamed  that  her  heart  still  hungered  fiercely  for 
the  love  that  had  never  come  its  way,  and  that  in  the  seclusion  of 
her  poor  little  chamber  her  faded  cheek  still  could  glow  rosy  red 
as  fancy  placed  softly  upon  it  a  lover's  kiss  such  as  it  had  never 
known.  Day  after  day  she  trod  with  outward  resignation  her 
appointed  path,  striving  with  pathetic  earnestness  to  kindle  in 
grubby  little  girls  the  divine  flame  of  music  of  which  she  herself 
had  but  a  tiny  spark;  tending  her  aged  and  half  invalid  mother, 
and  saving — always  saving,  pinching  pence  from  scanty  shillings 
— against  the  time  when  she  could  earn  no  more.  Always 
dogging  her  footsteps  was  that  horror  which  besets  friendless 
women  of  her  age  and  station — the  terror  of  penniless  and 
dependent  old  age. 

The  cottage  in  which  she  and  her  mother  made  their  home 
was  her  own,  a  legacy  from  her  dead  father's  brother,  and  even 
pence  when  faithfully  gleaned  for  twenty  years  mount  into 
guineas.  The  value  of  the  cottage  and  her  savings  together 
amounted  to  some  £800,  a  sum  sufficient  to  guarantee  comfort 
to  the  old  mother  as  long  as  she  might  live  and  to  give  reasonable 
assurance  that  Sarah  herself  might  maintain  her  skimping 
independence  until  the  end. 

Sarah  Gray  was  eminently  respectable,  even  according  to 
Dullwich  standards.  Once  each  quarter  the  curate  took  tea 
at  her  cottage,  and  the  banker  remembered  her  name  and 
pompously  bowed  when  he  met  her  upon  the  street.  Her 


THROUGH   DESPERATE  HAZARDS  127 

familiar  conduct  with  the  stranger  was  therefore  as  inexplicable 
as  it  was  shocking.  The  man  was  obviously  a  foreigner,  which 
fact,  as  the  wife  of  the  greengrocer  pointed  out,  made  the  affair 
patently  disgraceful,  Sarah  Gray  being  old  enough  to  know 
what  sort  of  morals  foreigners  had.  Within  a  week  the  music 
teacher  was  without  pupils. 

The  stranger  had  appeared,  from  no  one  knew  where,  and 
lodged  himself  at  the  White  Falcon  Inn.  His  name,  he  had 
given  Landlord  Higgs  to  understand,  was  Captain  Lars  Pieter- 
son.  His  business  he  kept  to  himself,  which,  in  Dullwich,  was 
highly  suspicious  if  not  actual  proof  of  rascality,  and  the  facts 
that  he  was  handsome,  with  a  taking  way,  and  apparently 
possessed  of  money  in  abundance  counted  heavily  against  him. 
By  what  bold  means  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Sarah  Gray 
could  not  be  learned.  In  fact,  the  first  intimation  of  the 
scandal  was  the  breath-taking  spectacle  of  the  stranger  calmly 
entering  the  Gray  cottage,  at  the  door  of  which  he  was  warmly 
greeted. 

To  Sarah  those  were  dream-days.  To  her  at  last  had  come 
romance.  Incredible,  almost  terrifying,  unimaginably  sweet, 
love  had  swiftly  developed  from  an  apparently  chance  acquain 
tance  writh  Captain  Pieterson.  That  he,  handsome,  traveled, 
and  seemingly  wealthy,  should  find  her  desirable  filled  Sarah 
Gray  with  amazement  and  tender  gratitude.  She  was  abso 
lutely  indifferent  to,  almost  unconscious  of,  the  stern  disapproval 
of  Dullwich,  and  listened  with  beating  heart  to  the  masterful 
plans  of  her  lover.  They  would  go  to  America,  he  told  her, 
where  he  had  large  interests  and  where  he  desired  to  establish 
his  permanent  home.  Her  old  mother  would  be  left  in  the 
care  of  some  good  people  at  Dullwich  until  they  had  established 
themselves,  when  they  would  return  for  her.  Sarah  would  sell 
the  cottage,  draw  her  savings  from  the  bank,  and  meet  him  in 
Whitehaven,  where  they  would  be  married  and  then  sail  in  his 


128  THE   BELOVfiD  ADVENTURER 

own  ship  to  the  land  of  wealth  and  happiness.  And  then  he 
went  away,  telling  her  to  follow  as  soon  as  she  had  arranged 
for  her  mother  and  disposed  of  the  cottage. 

Unquestioningly  Sarah  Gray  carried  out  the  suggestions 
made  to  her.  The  cottage  was  sold,  and  arrangements  made 
whereby  the  new  owners  would  keep  the  old  mother  as  a 
boarder  until  the  daughter  returned  for  her.  Then,  with 
nearly  £900  in  her  handbag  she  hurried  joyously  to  White- 
haven,  and  there  occurred  what  one  more  worldly-wise  than 
Sarah  Gray  would  have  guessed  would  be  the  end  of  her  belated 
romance. 

It  was  a  good  scheme,  Captain  Pieterson  had  frequently 
asserted  to  his  intimates,  and  one  which  he  invariably  worked 
when  his  tramp  schooner  lay  long  enough  in  any  port  of  the 
Seven  Seas,  to  make  love  to  an  old  maid  with  a  little  money, 
get  the  money  in  his  pocket,  and  then  brutally  give  the  woman  to 
understand  that  she  had  been  tricked.  Generally  they  drowned 
themselves,  and  matters  were  satisfactorily  concluded.  It 
wasn't  often  that  one  tried  to  make  a  fuss,  he  having  a  pretty 
talent  for  selecting  those  who  wouldn't,  and  if  they  tried  it  they 
found  it  difficult  to  procure  sufficient  evidence  to  move  the 
authorities  to  a  world-wide  search,  and  he  always  waited  until 
his  schooner  was  raising  her  anchor  to  let  the  woman  in  on  the 
joke. 

Sarah  Gray,  it  seemed,  belonged  in  the  category  of  those 
who  drowned  themselves — the  contemptuous  crushing  of  her 
love,  the  loss  of  the  little  fortune  that  represented  the  painful 
pinching  of  half  a  lifetime,  the  knowledge  that  never  again 
could  she  earn  a  shilling  in  her  native  place,  the  thought  that 
her  old  mother  must  die  in  the  poor-house,  to  which  she  herself 
would  in  the  end  be  forced  to  turn  for  refuge  combining  to 
make  life  a  horror  compared  to  which  death  in  the  black  water 
seemed  a  happiness. 


THROUGH  DESPERATE   HAZARDS  129 

It  was  Sarah  Gray  whom  Lord  Cecil  snatched  back  from  the 
edge  of  the  pier,  and  from  whom  he  soon  extracted  the  essential 
facts  of  her  pitiful  story. 

"This  man's  ship  has  not  yet  sailed?"  Cecil  asked,  his  lips 
drawing  into  a  hard  line. 

"Not  yet,  I  think,"  she  answered  dully.  "There  has  not 
been  time  for  Captain  Pieterson  to  get  aboard.  He  had  just 
left  me  when — when  you  came,  and  went  in  a  rowboat.  The 
ship — The  Najhoy — was  anchored  far  out,  I  heard  him  say." 

"Then  come!"  Cecil  ordered,  and  hurried  the  unresisting 
woman  away. 

Further  along  the  line  of  wharves  a  waterman  was  just 
mooring  his  nondescript  motorboat.  He  nodded  indifferently 
when  Cecil  demanded  if  his  craft  was  for  hire,  and  cast  off  the 
line  he  had  made  fast. 

"Where  to?"  he  grunted  as  Cecil  and  Sarah  Gray  seated 
themselves  on  the  uncushioned  boards.  The  woman  seemed 
to  have  resigned  herself  to  Cecil's  charge,  and  docilely  and 
without  question  followed  his  directions. 

"Alongside  The  Najhoy,  schooner  in  the  outer  harbour," 
was  the  direction  given,  and  the  boat  slipped  away  at  a  speed 
somewhat  better  than  her  appearance  would  have  led  one  to 
hope  for. 

Before  the  motorboat  had  reached  the  outer  anchorage, 
however,  The  Najhoy's  captain  had  climbed  aboard,  the  an 
chor  had  been  brought  home,  and  the  schooner  had  started  to 
beat  out  to  open  sea.  By  the  time  she  was  sighted,  she  was 
clearing  the  harbour  mouth  and  with  all  sails  drawing  was 
slipping  away  at  a  good  speed  into  the  southwest. 

"She  be  gone,"  the  waterman  remarked  indifferently,  point 
ing  to  the  receding  vessel. 

"Can  you  catch  her?"  Cecil  demanded,  the  ominous  tighten 
ing  of  lips  still  in  evidence. 


130       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"For  ten  pounds,  belike,"  the  boatman  responded,  with  a 
calculating  gleam  in  his  eyes,  "but  not  before  un  be  ten  mile 
off  shore." 

"Do  it,"  Cecil  ordered  shortly,  and  the  man's  fingers  closed 
greedily  upon  the  ten-pound  note  thrust  into  his  hand. 

"Be  n't  no  boat  in  harbour  can  touch  un,"  the  man  said 
pridefully.  "Now  you  watch  un  go!" 

The  launch  carried  no  lights,  and  the  underwater  exhaust 
was  practically  silent.  Like  a  swift  shadow  it  sped  on  after 
the  schooner,  now  distinguishable  only  by  the  gleam  of  her 
lanterns  between  the  darkness  of  sea  and  sky.  The  waters 
were  at  rest,  only  gentle,  unbreaking  swells  undulating  the 
surface.  It  would  be  possible  to  run  alongside  the  schooner  as 
easily  as  though  she  lay  at  anchor  in  an  inland  lake. 

"I  wish  to  get  aboard  without  being  seen — run  alongside,  and 
be  silent,"  Cecil  whispered,  when  the  dark  mass  of  the  ship 
was  not  fifty  yards  ahead,  and  the  boatman,  greedily  thinking 
that  this  night's  work  might  yield  still  another  ten  pounds  if 
he  rightly  played  his  cards,  nodded,  and  reduced  the  speed 
of  his  motor  so  that  his  craft  was  barely  exceeding  in  its  rate 
of  progression  that  of  the  schooner.  A  few  moments  later  the 
side  of  the  vessel  towered  above  them,  and  as  they  slid  along 
it,  Cecil's  outstretched  hand  touched  the  planks.  Presently 
his  fingers  closed  upon  a  rope,  and  he  realized  with  satisfac 
tion  that  it  was  one  vertical  of  a  boarding  ladder  which  had 
not  yet  been  taken  up.  In  an  instant  he  had  grasped  it  and 
lifted  himself  clear  of  the  motorboat. 

"Wait!"  he  ordered,  and  clambered  swiftly  over  the  schooner's 
rail. 

The  deck  was  deserted,  except  for  the  lookout  forward  and 
the  man  at  the  wheel,  and  the  eyes  of  the  latter  were  aloft. 
Cecil  stole  along  the  shadow  of  the  deckhouse  toward  a  window 
from  which  came  a  bar  of  light  and  the  sound  of  voices.  Cau- 


THROUGH   DESPERATE  HAZARDS  131 

tiously  peering  in,  he  could  see  a  man  wham  he  correctly  judged 
to  be  Captain  Pieterson  and  another  whom  he  took  to  be  the 
mate. 

"Usual  luck  ashore,  Cap'n?"  the  mate  enquired  with  a  leer. 

"Not  so  bad — not  so  bad,"  Pieterson  responded  with  a 
chuckle,  and  tossed  a  packet  of  banknotes  upon  the  shelf  under 
the  window.  "Eight  hundred  and  seventy  pounds — that'll 
mean  four  thousand  three  hundred  and  fifty  good  dollars 
when  we  tie  up  at  New  York." 

"I  reckon  you  ain't  takin'  that  powder  in  the  forward  hold 
to  New  York?"  the  mate  suggested  casually. 

Captain  Pieterson  eyed  him  with  sudden  suspicion. 

"We  cleared  for  New  York,  didn't  we?"  he  demanded. 

"Oh,  I  wasn't  tryin'  to  horn  in — don't  make  no  difference 
to  me  where  we  go — I  draw  my  pay  by  the  month,"  the  mate 
hastened  to  declare.  He  turned  to  go,  and  Pieterson  followed 
him  with  his  eyes.  Instantly  Cecil's  long  arm  was  thrust  through 
the  window,  and  as  quickly  withdrawn,  with  Sarah  Gray's 
fortune  grasped  in  his  hand.  Swiftly  he  moved  back  to  the 
rail  at  the  point  where  the  ladder  hung,  and  was  in  the  act  of 
climbing  over  when  a  wild  yell  of  fury  burst  from  the  deck 
house,  telling  that  Captain  Pieterson  had  discovered  his  loss. 
At  the  same  instant  powerful  hands  seized  upon  Cecil  from 
behind. 

"I  got  'im,  Cap'n — here  be  the  thief!"  a  voice  bellowed  at 
his  ear. 

Vainly  Cecil  strove  to  free  himself  from  that  iron  grasp. 
Men  were  rushing  from  every  direction,  and  an  unmuffled 
volley  of  oaths  told  that  Pieterson  had  gained  the  deck.  Forced 
against  the  rail,  Cecil  was  directly  above  the  motorboat,  and 
could  see  Sarah  Gray  looking  up  at  him  with  frightened  eyes. 
He  dropped  the  packet  of  notes  into  her  lap. 

"It's  your   money — get   away — go!"   he   shouted,   and   the 


132  THE   BELOVfiD  ADVERTURER 

waterman,  desiring  to  get  well  clear  of  the  trouble  that  had 
broken  out  aboard  the  schooner,  opened  his  throttle  wide. 
The  launch  leaped  forward  and  disappeared. 

Captain  Pieterson  was  charging  along  the  deck,  bawling 
curses  and  waving  a  revolver.  Suddenly  he  stopped  as  though 
paralyzed,  and  the  weapon  dropped  unheeded  from  his  nerve 
less  hand.  A  shrill  cry  had  cut  through  the  confusion  like  a 
lightning  flash,  thrilling  with  terror: 

"Fire  in  the  for'd  hold!" 

Even  as  the  cry  rang  out,  a  column  of  smoke  poured  from 
the  still  open  forward  cargo  hatch. 

"To  the  boats!  For  your  lives!  The  for'd  cargo  is  powder!" 
Lars  Pieterson  shouted,  and  led  the  panic-stricken  rush  that 
followed,  by  which  Cecil,  forgotten,  was  hurled  aside. 

With  incredible  swiftness  the  schooner's  two  boats  were 
lowered,  the  men  tumbled  in,  and  the  oars  tore  the  water  into 
foam.  Already  the  flames,  feeding  on  some  highly  inflammable 
material,  were  leaping  from  the  hatch,  and  the  explosion  of  the 
powder  might  be  expected  at  any  instant.  Cecil  looked  about 
hastily  with  the  idea  of  securing  some  article  which  would 
serve  as  a  support  in  the  water,  and  tore  open  a  deck  house 
door  with  the  intention  of  wrenching  it  from  its  hinges.  Fac 
ing  him  from  the  interior  of  the  cabin  was  Betty,  her  eyes  wide 
with  alarm  and  uncertainty. 

Before  Cecil  could  recover  from  his  astonishment  the  girl 
sprang  forward  and  pushed  him  violently  aside.  At  the  same 
instant  a  revolver  cracked  behind  him,  and  the  bullet  brushed 
his  temple.  Whirling  about,  Cecil  recognized  the  malicious 
face  of  Monte  Carson,  contorted  by  rage  and  lit  up  by  the  red 
glare  of  the  fire  forward. 

It  was  The  Najhoy  that  Carson  had  selected  for  the  escape 
of  himself  and  Betty  from  England,  and,  as  a  precaution,  both 
had  kept  to  their  cabins  since  coming  aboard.  Carson,  feeling 


THROUGH   DESPERATE  HAZARDS  133 

that  the  strain  was  over  and  that  the  immediate  future  did 
not  require  his  close  personal  supervision,  had  immediately 
indulged  in  a  quart  of  Irish  whiskey,  with  the  result  that  he 
did  not  immediately  rouse  at  the  noise  on  deck,  appearing  only 
at  the  same  instant  that  Cecil  opened  the  door  to  Betty's 
cabin. 

To  Carson's  befuddled  mind  there  came  but  one  thought— 
that  by  some  means  Cecil  had  tracked  them  and  was  about  to 
recover  possession  of  the  girl,  and  that  he,  Carson,  would  again 
suffer  the  humiliation  of  defeat.  Also,  vaguely,  he  realized 
that  if  Cecil  should  be  killed,  Betty,  as  his  widow,  w^ould  re 
cover  the  fortune  she  had  thrown  away.  It  would  be  gratify 
ing  to  his  hate  and  advantageous  to  his  interest  to  kill  Cecil, 
and  the  opportunity  seemed  to  present  itself.  His  first  mur 
derous  shot  failing  its  mission,  Carson  took  refuge  behind  the 
charthouse. 

"He  will  kill  you!  Shoot  him!"  Betty  cried,  and  stretched 
out  her  hands  to  Cecil  in  an  agony  of  appeal. 

"But  I  haven't  a  gun,  y'know!"  Cecil  stammered.  "Oh, 
Betty  girl — 

From  his  cover  Mr.  Carson  tried  another  shot,  and  Cecil's 
left  arm  went  suddenly  limp  and  useless. 

"Oh,  God!"  Betty  moaned.  Her  despairing  eyes  flashed 
frantic  searching  glances  about  the  vessel,  seeking  for  some 
thing  that  might  serve  as  a  weapon.  On  the  open  deck,  gleam 
ing  in  the  light  of  the  flames,  was  Pieterson's  revolver,  and  with 
a  choking  cry  that  was  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving  she  sprang 
forward  and  caught  it  up. 

"Now!"  she  panted,  and  thrust  the  weapon  into  Cecil's 
hand. 

"Don't  look,  beloved,"  he  whispered  gently,  and  sprang 
across  the  deck  so  that  the  corner  of  the  house  no  longer  gave 
shelter  to  the  gambler.  Two  shots  blended  their  reports,  and 


134       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

Monte  Carson  crumpled  and  fell,  a  bullet  through  his  heart. 
Cecil  threw  aside  his  smoking  revolver,  and  with  a  happy  smile 
turned  to  Betty,  and  held  out  his  one  good  arm. 

"It  is  over,"  he  said  simply.  "For  what  he  has  done  to  you 
he  deserved  a  hundred  deaths.  Now  you  must  come  back  to 
my  heart." 

Slowly  she  drew  near  until,  leaning  against  his  breast,  she 
looked  deep  into  his  eyes.  Suddenly  her  own  filled  with  tears, 
and  she  clung  to  him,  sobbing  happily. 

"You  do  love  me,  my  own,"  she  whispered,  "and  I  have 
never  caused  you  shame.  I  would  have  known,  if  I  had  waited 
to  look  into  your  eys.  I  do  not  understand  it  all,  but  I  do 
know  I  have  been  deceived,  and  that  I  will  never  doubt  your 
love  again  as  long  as  we  live." 

"We  are  not  to  live,  sweetheart,"  Cecil  told  her  tenderly. 

She  did  not  blanch,  but  pressed  closer  against  him.  The 
flames  forward  were  now  leaping  high. 

"You  mean  we  can  not  escape  from  the  ship?"  she  asked.  "I 
am  not  afraid,  and  we  will  be  together,"  she  added  softly. 
"How  long  will  it  be  before  it  comes?" 

"At  any  moment,"  he  told  her  gravely.  "If  I  were  not  wounded 
I  might  save  you,  but  with  one  arm,  I  can  not.  Kiss  me,  be 
loved,  and  we  will  await  it  with  a  smile." 

Instantly  her  arms  were  about  his  neck  in  a  clinging  caress, 
and  her  lips  were  pressed  to  his. 

The  motorboat  had  not  gone  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
schooner's  side  when  the  cry  of  fire  and  the  following  panic- 
stricken  departure  of  the  crew  caused  the  waterman  to  urge  his 
motor  to  its  highest  speed  in  order  that  he  might  be  at  a  safe 
distance  when  the  explosion  which  seemed  to  be  expected  oc 
curred.  At  a  quarter  mile  vantage  he  came  to  a  stop,  in  order 
to  watch  what  promised  to  be  interesting  developments.  The 
reports  of  revolvers  came  faintly,  and  he  scratched  his  head 


THROUGH   DESPERATE  HAZARDS  135 

wonderingly.  Then,  as  the  flames  mounted,  there  could  clearly 
be  distinguished  the  forms  of  Lord  Cecil  and  Betty,  and  the 
waterman  gasped. 

"They  uns  didn't  get  away — him  as  come  wi'  us,  an'  a  lass," 
he  said.  "They'll  be  blown  up,  belike!" 

Sarah  Gray  stared  at  the  burning  ship  with  horror. 

"We  must  save  them — he  went  there  for  my  sake!"  she 
cried.  "Go  back!" 

The  waterman  stolidly  shook  his  head. 

"Ship  may  blow  up  any  minute,"  he  declared.  "I  wouldn't 
go  along  side,  not  for  fifty  pound!" 

"I  will  give  you  a  hundred — see?"  Sarah  Gray  cried,  and 
thrust  before  his  dazzled  eyes  a  handful  of  bank  notes. 

Without  a  word  he  seized  the  notes,  crammed  them  into  his 
pocket,  and  started  the  motor. 

"Every  man  must  die  sometime,"  he  muttered,  "an*  might  as 
well  be  for  a  hunner  pound  as  for  nothin'  at  all,  mayhap!" 

As  the  boat  shot  into  the  illumination  cast  by  the  flames, 
Cecil  tightened  his  clasp  about  Betty's  shoulders,  and  a  smile 
lit  up  his  face. 

"After  all,  sweetheart,  we  may  live,"  he  whispered,  and  hur 
ried  her  to  the  ladder  that  hung  over  the  rail. 

Three  minutes  later,  when  they  were  half  a  mile  away  and 
headed  for  Whitehaven  port,  a  great  pillar  of  flame  leaped 
into  the  sky,  and  then,  where  had  been  the  burning  schooner 
was  only^the  black  water. 


XIV 

A  PERILOUS  PASSAGE 

Three  months  had  passed  since  Lord  Cecil  and  Betty  re 
turned  to  Croftlaigh  and  a  happiness  even  greater  than  that 
which  they  had  known  when  they  had  first  entered  the  old 
house  hand  in  hand.  Then  they  had  been  wrapped  in  the  thrill 
ing  mantle  of  tender  passion  and  mutual  adoration,  but  at 
their  second  home-coming  stronger  and  deeper  emotions,  as 
like  the  first  as  the  broad  river  sweeping  majestically  to  the 
sea  is  like  the  leaping  mountain  torrent,  enfolded  them  in  a 
glory  of  happiness.  In  those  moments  when,  clasped  in  each 
other's  arms,  they  had  stood  upon  the  deck  of  the  burning 
ship  and  thought  that  death  was  at  hand,  the  soul  of  each 
had  stood  clearly  revealed,  and  now  between  them  was  a  com 
plete  and  perfect  understanding  which  would  endure  to  the 
end  of  their  lives. 

On  a  day  when  the  leaves  of  the  ancient  oaks  were  drifting 
lazily  down  to  lie  in  rustling  heaps  of  brown  and  gold,  Cecil 
entered  the  library  where  Betty  sat  reading,  and  with  an  air 
of  delighted  mysteriousness  asked  her  to  come  out  and  welcome 
a  visitor. 

"But  we  don't  want  any  visitor.  We  are  more  happy  when 
ju.st  we  are  here,"  Betty  pouted. 

"I  fancy  you'll  want  this  one,  but  he  doesn't  have  to  stay 
if  you  don't,  y'know,"  Cecil  said  smilingly,  and  with  his  arm 
about  her  shoulders  led  her  from  the  room. 

"You  were  fooling  me!"  Betty  declared  indignantly,  when 
they  had  reached  the  front  of  the  house  and  no  one  appeared 
upon  the  steps  or  lawn.  Suddenly  she  caught  her  breath  in  a 
little  gasp  of  delight  and  astonishment. 

137 


138       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"Oh,  you  darling!  It's  Pinto!"  she  cried  joyously,  as  her 
eyes  fell  upon  a  pony  wearing  the  saddle  and  bridle  familiar 
to  the  cowboys  of  the  Western  world.  Gurgling  with  pure 
happiness  she  danced  forward  and  threw  her  arms  about  the 
horse's  neck. 

"How  did  you  ever  guess  I  missed  him?"  she  demanded,  as 
Cecil  lazily  joined  her.  "He  was  the  only  bit  of  the  old  life  I 
longed  for,"  she  added  softly,  "and  now  you  have  brought  him 
to  me,  all  the  way  from  Nevada,  and  across  the  ocean!" 

A  little  line  of  worry  appeared  on  her  brow. 

"I  hope  he  likes  England,"  she  said  anxiously.  "/  do,  of 
course,  because  I  have  you,  but  a  pony  used  to  going  fifty 
miles  straight  across  country  without  hitting  a  fence  is  going 
to  feel  awfully  cramped  here!" 

However,  Pinto  seemed  a  contented  emigrant,  and  cheer 
fully  enough  reduced  his  gallop  of  the  old  days  to  an  easy 
lope  as  more  adapted  to  the  hedged  lanes  and  park-like  bridle 
paths  about  Croftlaigh.  Betty  readopted  the  quaint  little 
frontierish  riding  garb,  contending  that  Pinto  liked  her  better 
so,  and  a  coiled  lariat  hung  from  the  saddle.  Every  day  she 
rode  for  an  hour,  usually  alone,  Cecil  being  deeply  engaged  in 
the  task  of  straightening  up  his  involved  financial  affairs  and 
negotiating  for  the  purchase  of  lands  sold  by  the  family  during 
the  past  three  generations,  it  being  Betty's  wish  that  all  the 
wide  acres  which  had  once  belonged  to  Croftlaigh  should  be 
recovered.  "Lady  Betty"  was  known  and  loved  by  every 
cottager  within  a  radius  of  ten  miles. 

Ready  for  one  of  her  rambling  rides,  Betty,  as  usual,  went  to 
the  library,  where  Cecil  was  accustomed  to  work,  to  say  good 
bye.  As  she  entered  the  room,  she  realized  that  Cecil  was  not 
alone,  and  would  have  withdrawn  had  he  not  called  her  name. 
With  a  sinking  heart  she  noted  that  his  face  was  grave  and 
troubled.  Collapsed  miserably  in  a  chair  was  a  handsome,  sun- 


A  PERILOUS  PASSAGE  139 

tanned  young  man  who  pulled  himself  together  with  an  effort 
and  rose  as  she  came  forward. 

Cecil  placed  his  hand  upon  the  other  man's  shoulder  with  a 
kindly  smile. 

"This  is  my  nephew,  Bob  Stanley,  Betty,"  he  told  her.  "He 
is  in  serious  trouble,  and  I  wish  you  to  hear  all  the  facts.  We 
will  call  it  a  family  council,"  he  added,  smiling  a  little  sadly. 

When  they  had  seated  themselves,  Cecil  nodded  gravely  to 
Bob. 

"I  only  understand  the  general  situation,"  he  said.  "Please 
begin  at  the  beginning,  and  tell  us  the  entire  tale." 

Briefly,  the  story  was  as  follows: 

Captain  Robert  Stanley  had,  two  months  before,  been  the 
senior  surviving  officer  when  the  ragged  remnants  of  a  British 
column  cut  its  bloody  way  to  the  heart  of  the  fierce  little  out 
law  kindgom  of  Gokaral,  hidden  away  in  the  Himalayan 
Mountains,  and  stormed  the  palace  from  which  had  eminated 
the  orders  that  had  spread  desolation  along  the  Border,  and 
it  was  to  Captain  Stanley  that  the  Maharajah  gravely  offered 
his  jeweled  sword. 

Now,  it  is  not  g»od  for  the  future  peace  of  the  Indian  Empire 
that  such  an  one  as  the  Bang  of  Gokaral,  who  had  a  son  that 
would  reign  in  his  stead,  should  be  unduly  humiliated,  and 
Captain  Stanley,  devoutly  trusting  that  his  unauthorized  act 
would  meet  the  approval  of  the  Powers  that  were,  begged  His 
Majesty  to  keep  his  blade  as  a  boon  from  the  Emperor  of 
India. 

The  Maharajah  returned  the  steel  to  its  gold  sheath. 

"Had  you  touched  it,"  he  said,  "mine  honour  would  have 
been  touched,  and  my  son,  the  Maharaj,  and  his  sons  after 
him,  would  have  continued  a  blood-feud  against  the  English. 
You  serve  your  King  and  Emperor  wisely  as  well  as  with  a 
stout  sword.  Wherefore  you  are  fit  to  bear  the  message  and 


140  THE  BELOVfiD   ADVENTURER 

token  of  a  King  to  a  King.  And  the  message  is  this:  Be 
cause  it  is  obviously  the  will  of  God — seeing  that  your  hand 
ful  have  overcome  my  thousands — that  the  Emperor  of  In 
dia  be  overlord  of  Gokaral,  the  Maharajah  will  be  faithful 
vassal  in  the  Emperor's  palace,  though  still  King  in  his  own. 
And  for  token  I  will  send  the  Star  of  Gokaral.  Take  it  and 
go,  and  bring  me  back  the  answer  of  my  liege  lord,  the  King 
of  Great  Britain  and  Emperor  of  India." 

Captain  Stanley  was  almost  dazed  at  the  completeness  of  his 
triumph.  To  have  carried  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion  the  puni 
tive  expedition  in  face  of  the  resistance  offered  was  much — 
to  return  bearer  of  the  allegiance  of  the  kingdom  that  had  de 
fied  authority  from  the  earliest  days  of  English  occupation  was 
a  dazzling  consummation  made  the  more  astounding  by  the 
token  he  was  to  bear.  Not  a  man  in  Asia  but  had  heard  of  the 
Star  of  Gokaral.  It  was  not  merely  a  State  jewel — it  was  the 
embodied  authority  of  the  State.  Where  it  rested  abode  the 
fealty  of  Gokaral.  The  fact  that  it  was  a  jewel  of  inestimable 
value,  consisting  of  nineteen  perfect  blue  diamonds,  each  as 
large  as  the  Star  of  India,  was  a  small  matter  compared  to  its 
political  significance.  When  Captain  Stanley  had  buttoned 
the  flat  case  containing  the  glittering  thing  inside  his  jacket, 
he  realized  that  over  his  heart  was  that  for  the  possession  of 
which  the  great  empire  to  the  North  would  have  given  the  lives 
of  a  half  million  men  and  treasure  heaped  beyond  all  dreams. 
What  he  did  not  know  was  that  before  he  had  turned  his  back 
on  the  palace,  a  spy  of  the  Empire  of  the  North  was  speeding 
to  give  the  word  that  the  Star  had  been  given  into  the  hands 
of  the  English  Captain  Stanley. 

The  Government  of  India  was  good  enough  to  express  itself 
as  officially  pleased  at  Captain  Stanley's  verbal  report,  and  in 
due  course  he  departed  for  England  to  deliver  the  royal  message 
and  token.  The  latter  would  disappear  forever  from  the  sight 


A  PERILOUS  PASSAGE  141 

of  man,  being  consigned  to  a  certain  safe  which  is  the  grave  of 
many  wonderful  things,  but  its  power  would  extend  with  un- 
diminished  force  across  the  seas.  The  Government  of  India 
would  have  preferred  a  courier  of  its  own  selection,  but  one 
does  not  run  the  risk  of  irritating  a  newly  won  kingdom  by 
substituting  another  for  a  messenger  who  has  been  personally 
delegated  to  bear  the  word  of  its  king.  Messenger  and  token 
might  have  disappeared  en  route. 

Though  he  felt  vaguely  that  he  was  being  watched,  Captain 
Stanley  encountered  no  unusual  experience  upon  his  long  voy 
age,  and  assumed  the  watchers,  if  any  existed,  to  be  agents  of 
the  Indian  Government  assigned  to  the  task  of  secretly  afford 
ing  protection  to  that  which  he  carried.  Some  of  them  were, 
which  accounted  for  the  uneventful  voyage. 

Captain  Stanley  duly  landed  in  England,  and  heaved  a  sigh 
of  relief.  His  responsibility  had  lain  heavily  upon  him,  and 
he  felt  that  now  practically  all  danger  was  past.  He  hurried 
from  the  dock,  intent  upon  catching  an  early  train  to  London. 
As  he  stepped  into  the  roadway  a  motor  car  charged  swiftly, 
and  to  avoid  being  run  down  he  stepped  hastily  back,  directly 
into  the  path  of  another  which  sprang  forward  from  the  op 
posite  direction.  Rendered  unconscious  by  the  blow  received 
from  the  second  motor,  he  fell  to  the  pavement  between  the 
cars,  both  of  which  had  come  to  a  quick  stop.  From  the  first 
alighted  a  handsomely  gowned  woman,  who  for  an  instant 
knelt  beside  the  prostrate  man,  apparently  in  solicitous  examina 
tion.  Seemingly  satisfied  that  he  was  not  badly  hurt,  she 
returned  to  her  machine  and  had  reseated  herself  by  the  time 
an  officer  reached  the  scene  of  the  accident.  The  occupant  of 
the  car  which  had  struck  down  the  soldier  appeared  to  be  over 
whelmed  with  regret,  and  at  the  same  time  anxious  that  no  one 
else  should  be  held  in  the  slightest  degree  responsible  for  the 
affair.  At  his  suggestion  Captain  Stanley  was  placed  in  his 


142       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

car,  the  police  officer  also  getting  in,  and  the  car  was  driven 
rapidly  to  the  nearest  hospital,  where  examination  disclosed 
the  fact  that  Stanley's  injuries  were  not  great,  and  that  he 
would  probably  regain  consciousness  in  an  hour  or  so.  The 
gentleman  then  gave  his  card  to  the  officer,  and  was  allowed 
to  depart. 

Of  these  latter  facts,  Stanley  had  been  informed  by  the  of 
ficer  himself,  who  had  not  considered  it  necessary  to  take  the 
name  of  the  woman  in  the  second  automobile,  the  gentleman 
having  assumed  all  blame  for  the  accident.  It  was  later  dis 
covered  that  no  such  address  as  that  appearing  on  his  card 
existed,  and  the  name  also  appeared  to  be  fictitious.  The  im 
portant  point  was  that  the  Star  of  Gokaral  had  disappeared. 
It  had  obviously  been  taken  by  the  unknown  woman,  and  as 
obviously  the  whole  affair  had  been  a  cleverly  executed  plot. 
Before  reporting  the  loss  of  the  token  to  his  superiors,  Bob  had 
hurried  to  seek  the  advice  and  support  of  his  uncle,  Lord  Cecil. 

"It  is  evident  that  those  people  knew  I  had  the  Star,  and  no 
common  criminals  could  possibly  have  known.  They  must  be 
the  secret  agents  of  the  only  government  that  could  possibly 
desire  the  thing.  This  may  mean  a  terrible  calamity  to  the 
Empire,"  Bob  groaned.  "My  God!  What  is  to  be  done?"  he 
added  wildly,  and  his  appealing  eyes  rested  first  on  Lord  Cecil 
and  then  upon  Betty. 

"By  Jove,  I  don't  know!"  Cecil  answered  in  helpless  distress, 
and  lapsed  into  troubled  pondering.  Bob  seemed  sunk  fathoms 
deep  in  miserable  musing. 

Unnoticed  by  either  of  the  men,  Betty  rose  and  slipped  from 
the  room.  She  felt  that  if  any  idea  was  to  come  to  her,  it  would 
come  the  more  readily  in  the  open  air.  She  would,  she  thought, 
ride,  as  she  had  originally  planned,  and  leave  some  medicine 
at  the  cottage  of  a  sick  laborer. 

Instead  of  mounting,  Betty  thrust  her  arm  through  the  pony's 


A   PERILOUS  PASSAGE  143 

rein,  and  walked  slowly,  lost  in  thought.  She  passed  out  of  the 
grounds,  presently,  into  a  lane  which  was  a  passage  deeply 
carpeted  with  turf  and  walled  high  by  hedges.  The  horse's  and 
her  own  footfalls  were  silent,  and  the  thick  hedges  completely 
concealed  them  from  view  by  anyone  not  in  the  lane  itself. 
Suddenly  she  came  to  an  abrupt  stop,  her  face  white  with  hatred. 
From  the  other  side  of  the  hedge  came  a  mocking  voice  that 
she  recognized — that  of  the  woman  who  had  come  so  near, 
with  the  aid  of  the  dead  Carson,  to  breaking  the  hearts  and 
ruining  the  lives  of  Lord  Cecil  and  herself — The  Countess 
Lurovich. 

"My  dear  Duke,  calm  yourself,"  the  Countess  was  saying. 
"The  affair  has  been  wonderfully  successful,  and  I  am  sure 
that  we  were  not  recognized.  From  here  we  must  walk 
through  the  fields  to  the  cliffs.  The  boat  which  will  convey  you 
to  the  yacht  is  hidden  hi  a  little  fjord.  When  you  step  into 
that  boat,  and  not  before,  I  will  place  in  your  hands  the  Star 
of  Gokaral,  as  wrere  His  Majesty's  orders.  The  pretty  thing! 
It  is  a  pity  that  it  is  of  so  much  political  importance — I  would 
like  to  wear  it." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  be  careful  what  you  say,  and  let  us  get 
on  to  the  boat!"  a  man  responded  nervously,  and  then  the  voices 
receded. 

Betty's  heart  leaped.  Fate  had  placed  it  in  her  power  not 
only  to  wreak  a  just  revenge  on  this  woman,  but  to  serve  her 
husband's  country  and  his  nephew  whom  he  loved,  by  recov 
ering  the  stolen  Star  of  Gokaral. 

Or  had  she  this  power? 

Betty's  first  impulse  was  to  mount  Pinto  and  gallop  to  the 
Manor  for  Cecil  and  Bob,  but  before  she  touched  a  stirrup  the 
idea  was  abandoned.  It  was  but  a  short  way  to  the  cliff-lined 
coast,  and  there  were  a  hundred  fissures  and  canyon-like  inlets 
where  a  boat  might  be  hidden.  Before  she  could  secure  aid 


144       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

and  locate  the  particular  fjord  for  which  the  conspirators  were 
heading,  they  might  make  good  their  escape.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  follow  them,  and  trust  to  circumstances  to 
afford  her  an  opportunity  for  successful  action.  Bitterly  she 
regretted  the  absence  of  the  little  revolver  that  had  swung  at 
her  hip  in  the  old  days  in  Nevada. 

To  one  who  had  stalked  antelope  on  almost  leafless  and 
table-like  plains,  there  was  no  difficulty  in  following  closely 
and  unobserved  through  this  hedged  and  ditched  land.  Very 
soon  Betty  saw  the  Countess  and  her  companion  disappear  as 
though  they  had  been  swallowed  by  the  earth,  and  she  knew 
that  they  had  descended  one  of  the  steep  paths  leading  to  the 
bottom  of  the  cliffs.  Hurrying  forward  and  choosing  her  path 
so  that  Pinto's  hoofs  would  not  ring  on  the  outcropping  stone, 
Betty  approached  the  edge  of  a  wide  fissure  and  cautiously 
peered  down. 

Directly  below,  a  small  boat  was  moored  against  a  ledge,  and 
at  the  edge  of  the  water,  which  was  as  smooth  in  this  deep 
cove  as  that  of  a  woodland  pond,  was  a  group  of  five  persons — 
the  Countess,  the  man  she  had  called  Duke,  another  in  the  uni 
form  of  a  yacht  officer,  and  two  sailors.  Their  voices  came  dis 
tinctly,  but  in  a  language  which  Betty  could  not  understand. 
It  was  evident,  however,  that  the  Duke  was  eager  to  depart, 
and  the  officer  was  assuring  him  that  the  yacht  to  which 
he  was  to  be  conveyed  was  waiting.  The  Countess  drew  from 
her  breast  a  small  packet,  and  with  a  sigh  of  regret  delivered 
it  to  the  Duke,  who  hastily  thrust  it  inside  his  buttoned  coat. 
Betty  realized  that  in  another  moment  the  Star  of  Gokaral 
would  be  forever  lost  to  Britain  while  she  looked  helplessly 
on.  Then,  with  a  flash  of  inspiration  she  sprang  back  and  caught 
from  the  saddle  her  coiled  lariat,  fastened  one  end  to  the  horn 
of  the  saddle,  and  crept  back  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 

As  the  Duke  prepared  to  step  into  the  waiting  boat,  a  rope 


A  PERILOUS  PASSAGE  145 

dropped,  apparently  from  the  sky,  and  the  loop  of  a  lasso 
gripped  his  body.  The  next  instant,  as  Betty  cried  an  order  and 
the  cow-pony  lunged  forward,  the  man  was  snatched  from  his 
feet  and  drawn  rapidly  up  the  face  of  the  cliff.  When  her  cap 
tive  was  within  arm's  reach  of  the  top,  Betty  again  shouted, 
and  Pinto  stood  still.  Lying  flat  upon  her  face,  Betty  reached 
down  and  from  the  man's  breast  pocket  extracted  the  case 
containing  the  precious  jewel,  and  from  a  holster  swung  under 
his  armpit,  a  revolver.  The  Duke  made  no  effort  to  prevent 
this  despoilment — with  both  hands  he  clutched  frantically  at 
the  rope  by  which  he  dangled. 

With  a  laugh  of  triumph  Betty  sprang  up,  and,  feeling  se 
cure  with  the  revolver  in  her  hands,  gave  Pinto  a  word  which 
caused  him  to  drag  the  dangling  man  to  the  safety  of  the  cliff 
top.  Betty  began  to  move  towrard  the  pony,  but  before  she  had 
reached  it  there  was  a  quick  rush  of  feet,  and  the  Countess, 
followed  by  the  officer  and  sailors  sprang  up  the  path.  Each 
held  a  ready  weapon,  and  at  sight  of  Betty,  the  Countess  raised 
her  revolver  and  fired.  As  Betty  turned  to  face  this  attack, 
the  Duke,  who  had  disentangled  himself  from  the  coils  of  the 
lasso,  dashed  past  her,  reached  the  horse,  and  struck  him  with 
the  flat  of  his  hand  upon  the  flank.  With  a  snort  of  astonish 
ment,  Pinto  galloped  away. 

Again  the  Countess  fired,  then  the  officer  and  sailors,  and 
Betty  could  hear  the  bullets  hum  about  her  like  angry  bees. 
A  little  in  her  rear  Betty  saw  she  could  find  cover,  and  re 
treated  hastily.  There  were  five  of  the  enemy,  and  as  she  had 
but  five  cartridges  she  was  not  minded  to  waste  them.  How 
ever,  it  was  necessary  to  temporarily  check  the  advance  of  the 
Countess'  party,  and  the  girl  paused  to  fire  once.  With  a  cry 
the  officer  dropped  his  revolver  and  staggered,  clutching  at  his 
shoulder.  During  the  confusion  that  followed,  Betty  gained 
the  shelter  of  stone  and  furze  for  which  she  was  striving. 


146       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

The  attackers  now  advanced  cautiously,  the  Duke  having 
possessed  himself  of  the  wounded  officer's  weapon,  all  ex 
cepting  the  Countess  seeking  the  cover  of  the  rocks. 
She  stood  defiantly  in  the  open,  watching  for  Betty  to 
expose  herself  to  a  finishing  shot.  Three  times  Betty  rested 
her  revolver  upon  her  rocky  rampart  and  drew  a  fine  sight 
upon  the  Countess'  breast,  but  each  time  she  lowered  it. 

"She  deserves  it,  but  I  cannot  do  it,"  Betty  whispered.  "I 
can  not!" 

The  Duke  and  the  two  sailors  continued  their  cautious  ad 
vance,  firing  as  they  moved. 

Meanwhile  Pinto,  disdaining  roads,  had  cut  straight  across 
the  fields  to  Croftlaigh,  and  had  spread  wild  alarm  as  he  passed. 
A  score  of  laborers  recognized  the  pony,  and  were  filled  with 
horror  as  to  what  the  empty  saddle  might  bode.  They  hastened 
in  the  direction  from  whence  Pinto  had  come. 

"Are  you  afraid  of  a  girl?"  the  Countess  taunted  the  men  who 
still  crept  cautiously  from  rock  to  rock.  "You,  Duke?  I  have 
seen  you  brave  enough  to  wear  out  a  dog  whip  on  a  girl  ere 
this.  See,  I  stand  in  the  open  and  do  not  die!" 

"But  he  can't"  Betty  muttered  fiercely.  Stung  by  the  Coun 
tess'  scorn,  the  Duke  incautiously  raised  himself,  and  a  bullet 
burned  a  red  welt  across  his  cheek. 

"Charge!"  the  Duke  yelled  fiercely,  but  the  Countess 
screamed  a  warning,  and  pointed  inland.  Rushing  toward 
them  were  a  score  of  stout  rustics,  and  as  Betty's  voice  rose  in 
a  cry  for  help,  the  yokels  burst  into  a  yell  of  fury  and  redoubled 
their  speed. 

"To  the  boat!"  the  Countess  gasped,  and  they  fled  along  the 
edge  of  the  cliff  toward  the  path  leading  down  to  the  water. 

Then  occurred  an  incident  common  along  the  English  coast, 
where,  year  by  year  the  chalk-like  cliffs  are  undermined  by  the 
beating  waves  and  sucking  tides.  With  an  earth-shaking  roar 


A  PERILOUS  PASSAGE  147 

a  great  slice  of  the  cliff  face  gave  way  under  the  flying  feet  of 
the  conspirators,  as  though  the  very  soil  of  Britain  had  been 
stirred  to  revenge  upon  its  secret  foes,  and  the  Countess  Luro- 
vich,  the  nameless  Duke,  the  wounded  officer,  and  the  two 
sailors  went  down  to  death,  buried  forever  from  the  sight  of 
man. 

An  hour  later  Betty  softly  entered  the  old  library  at  Croft- 
laigh,  where  Lord  Cecil  and  Bob  still  sat  in  dreary  and  hopeless 
conference.  On  the  table  in  front  of  the  young  officer  she  placed 
a  small  case. 

"Open  it,"  she  said  gently,  and  dully  he  obeyed. 

As  his  eyes  rested  upon  what  was  disclosed,  Bob  staggered 
wildly  to  his  feet,  his  face  white. 

"What  is  it,  Betty?"  Cecil  cried,  startled  at  the  amazing 
effect  produced  upon  his  nephew,  whose  breast  was  now  heav 
ing  with  sobs. 

It  was  Bob  who  answered,  as  he  dropped  upon  his  knees  and 
pressed  Betty's  hands  to  his  lips. 

"It  is  the  Star  of  Gokaral!"  he  whispered. 


XV 

IN  PORT  O'  DREAMS 

Winter  had  come  and  gone,  and  summer  again  threw  its 
mantle  of  sunshine  over  ancient  Croftlaigh  and  the  ten  thou 
sand  broad  acres  of  which,  as  in  bygone  years,  the  Earls  of 
Swarthmore  had  been  lords.  To  have  been  the  means  of  re 
storing  to  her  husband's  house  those  great  estates  which  the 
pinching  fingers  of  poverty  had  filched  away,  was  to  Betty  a 
source  of  ceaseless  delight. 

To  Lord  Cecil,  life  was  now  a  golden  dream  of  love  and  con 
tentment,  and  Betty  was  happy  beyond  even  the  vague  and 
wistful  fancies  that  had  stirred  her  girlish  heart  in  the  far 
away,  lonely  land  of  her  youth.  But  a  single  cloud  drifted 
across  the  blue  sky  of  her  existence  and  at  times  cast  in  her 
path  a  shadow.  Proudly  indifferent,  so  far  as  she  herself  was 
concerned,  Betty,  jealous  for  her  husband's  honor,  could  not 
help  observing  what  the  serene  egotism  of  high  station  hid 
from  him — that  no  effort  was  made  by  his  social  equals  to  dis 
turb  the  seclusion  which  Lord  and  Lady  Cecil  had  sought.  A 
flood  of  invitations  had  followed  the  first  announcement  of 
Lord  Cecil's  marriage,  but  these  had  abruptly  ceased  to  come, 
and  Betty  realized  the  significance  of  this — that  the  world  of 
society  had  hastily  rectified  its  error  of  assuming  that  the 
woman  whom  the  Earl  of  Swathmore  had  married  could  not 
but  be  a  person  of  noble  blood  and  high  station. 

For  herself  Betty  desired  no  social  preferment — the  simple 
life  which  she  led  was  all  sufficient  to  her  happiness — but  as 
Lady  Cecil  she  could  not  help  but  feel  that  the  noble  society 
of  which  a  Peer  of  England  and  his  wife  were  naturally  members 
simply  ignored  her.  That  her  husband  might  in  time  realize  this 

149 


150       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

fact  and  be  shamed  thereby  was  Betty's  only  fear  for  the  future. 
Her  native  intelligence  was  too  great  for  her  to  resent  what 
she  knew  to  be  class  prejudice  cultivated  and  handed  down 
through  long  centuries;  she  was  quite  capable  of  realizing  that 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  Duchess  of  Drex,  for  instance, 
she,  Betty,  was  a  little  nobody  whom  it  would  be  quite  impos 
sible  to  admit  to  social  existence  without  violating  the  most 
sacred  of  the  laws  whereby  the  Duchess  held  her  own  exalted 
station. 

Just  wherein  lay  the  extraordinary  influence,  amounting  al 
most  to  social  despotism,  exercised  by  the  Duchess,  would 
have  been  difficult  of  explanation  by  her  most  faithful  sub 
jects,  but  the  fact  remained  that  to  receive  a  nod  of  approval 
from  this  rather  terrible  old  lady  was  to  have  opened  to 
one  the  most  jealously  guarded  drawing  rooms  of  the  kingdom, 
and  not  even  the  Queen's  favor  was  so  zealously  cultivated. 
To  be  able  to  claim  most  distant  blood  relationship  with  the 
Duchess  was  sufficient  to  elevate  a  mere  Baronet  to  the  social 
peerage,  this  being  perhaps  largely  due  to  the  fact  that  such 
claims  to  relationship  were  very  few.  In  her  old  age,  the 
Duchess,  fiercely  proud,  hid  a  lonely  heart. 

Long  years  before,  tragedy  and  sorrow  had  rested  a  heavy 
hand  upon  the  haughty  head  of  the  Duchess,  which  had  stub 
bornly  remained  unbowed,  and  as  she  never  spoke  the 
name  of  her  daughter,  her  youngest  child,  nor  those  of  her 
sons,  the  world  had  forgotten  both  her  tragedy  and  her  grief. 
But  the  Duchess  had  not  forgotten  that  bitter  day  when  the 
news  came  that  her  two  gallant  sons,  soldiers  born,  and 
fighting  for  the  liberty  of  an  alien  land,  had  died  at  the  head 
of  that  terrible  charge  which  made  it  free.  Nor  had  time 
dimmed  the  anguish,  though  it  had  obliterated  the  blind 
rage,  of  that  day  when  the  Duchess  had  turned  from  her  door 
the  daughter  whose  love  for  the  son  of  a  simple  country 


IN  PORT  O'  DREAMS  151 

gentleman  had  bade  her  defy  the  will  of  her  stern  and 
ambitious  mother. 

Since  that  stormy  scene,  the  Duchess  had  spoken  the  name 
of  her  daughter,  Elizabeth,  to  but  one  person,  and  not  a  word 
as  to  the  girl's  fate  since  she  went  away  clinging  to  the  arm  of 
her  chosen  husband  had  reached  the  mother's  ears.  As  time 
passed,  however,  the  mother's  heart  softened,  and  as  her 
head  grew  white,  an  irresistible  longing  for  her  child  filled  her 
heart.  At  length  a  trusted  lawyer  was  called  and  given  in 
structions.  He  was  to  trace  the  Duchess'  daughter,  and  report 
all  facts  concerning  her,  without,  however,  disclosing  his  iden 
tity  or  that  of  his  employer.  On  receiving  his  report  the 
Duchess  would  decide  whether  or  not  she  would  send  word  to 
that  daughter  to  return  to  her  arms. 

The  lawyer's  search  was  neither  simple  nor  brief.  It  had 
been  twenty  years  since  Robert  Lee  and  bis  bride  started  out 
to  face  life  together,  and  the  world,  not  knowing  that  the  girl 
ish  wife  was  the  daughter  of  the  Duchess  of  Drex,  had  con 
cerned  itself  not  at  all  as  to  their  movements,  and  they  had 
left  but  a  faint  trail.  In  the  end,  however,  patience  and  money 
resulted  in  success.  The  lawyer  followed  their  track  across  the 
sea,  and  from  the  Atlantic  seaboard  of  the  United  States  into 
the  West.  At  Chicago,  in  Illinois,  he  found  recorded  the  birth 
of  a  daughter  to  Robert  Castleton  Lee  and  his  wife,  Elizabeth, 
both  of  Westmoreland  County,  England,  and  in  a  Colorado 
mining  town  an  aged  minister  led  him  to  a  neglected  little 
churchyard  and  pointed  out  a  stone  on  which  could  be  read  the 
words : 

"Elizabeth,  wife  of  Robert  C.  Lee.  Aged  twenty-four  years." 

Thus  had  ended  the  romance  of  the  daughter  of  the  Duchess 
of  Drex,  who  might  have  been,  had  her  heart  not  ruled  other 
wise,  the  Princess  of  Schloss-Holenburg. 

The  lawyer  hesitated,  but  his  orders  had  been  to  report 


152       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"all  concerning"  the  daughter  of  the  Duchess,  and,  thinking  of 
the  birth  record  in  Illinois,  he  again  took  up  the  search,  which 
now  led  him  from  city  to  mining  camp  and  back  again  as  he 
followed  apparently  aimless  wanderings.  Old  miners  and  pros 
pectors  sometimes  nodded  when  he  questioned  them,  spat 
reflectively,  and  said: 

"Bob  Lee?  Oh,  yes,  he  was  'round  here  fifteen  or  twenty 
years  ago — had  a  little  gal  with  him.  He  was  prospectin',  but 
never  seemed  to  have  no  luck." 

Finally  he  came  to  the  Palace  Hotel,  in  the  town  of  Salt 
Springs,  Nevada,  and  there  gleaned  facts  which  sent  him  straight 
back  to  England. 

The  lazy  warmth  of  harvest  time  lay  upon  the  land,  and  at 
Croftlaigh  the  tea-table  had  been  spread  in  the  famous  old 
rose  garden,  and  Betty  herself  was  like  a  faintly  pink  rose  among 
the  other  blossoms.  A  motor  horn  sounded  from  the  drive,  and 
the  pink  rose  pouted. 

"Now  who  do  you  suppose  that  can  be?"  Betty  demanded. 
"I  don't  care  who  it  is,  I'm  not  going  in,"  she  added,  and  spoke 
to  the  hovering  footman. 

"Timmons,  you  will  bring  any  callers  here,"  she  said,  and 
with  a  bow  Timmons  departed. 

"Couldn't  say,  really.  Shouldn't  think  you  would.  Clever 
idea,  by  Jove — quite  rippin',  y'know!"  Lord  Cecil  drawled. 

Betty  stared. 

"Couldn't  say  what,  and  shouldn't  think  I  would  what,  and 
what  is  a  clever  idea?"  she  queried. 

"Er,  all  those  things  you  observed,  my  dear,"  he  replied 
lazily. 

At  this  moment  Timmons  reappeared,  and,  achieving  the 
impossible,  announced  with  even  more  than  his  usual  solemnity : 

"Her  Grace,  the  Duchess  of  Drex!" 


IN  PORT  O'  DREAMS  153 

The  next  instant  the  Duchess  was  advancing  briskly,  and 
Cecil  and  Betty  rose  to  greet  her. 

"How'do,  Cecil,"  Her  Grace  remarked  with  a  casual  nod 
toward  that  nobleman,  and  then  turned  with  a  smile  toward 
Betty. 

"So  this  little  girl  is  Lady  Cecil,"  she  said,  and  retained  the 
hand  which  Betty  gave  her.  "I  had  an  hour  to  spare,"  she 
continued,  "and  so  ran  over  from  Drexford  Castle  to  get  ac 
quainted,  my  dear.  I  can't  stop  a  minute — some  tiresome 
Prince  of,  I  forget  what,  is  due  this  afternoon,  and  I  have  to 
be  on  hand,  of  course." 

The  Duchess  hesitated,  and  looked  deep  into  Betty's  rather 
puzzled  eyes. 

"I  am  going  to  kiss  you,  my  child,"  she  said  suddenly,  and 
her  own  eyes  seemed  misty.  "I  have  more  or  less  of  a  right 
to,"  she  added  whimsically,  "because  I  am  you  grand 
mother,  y'know." 

Betty  could  only  gasp  at  this  startling  announcement,  but 
Cecil  found  words. 

"Oh,  I  say,  Your  Grace — really,  y'know — by  Jove!"  he  pro 
tested.  "You  couldn't  be  Betty's  grandmother,  y'know,  be 
cause  then  she'd  be  your  granddaughter,  by  Jove!" 

"Well,  that  is  just  what  she  is!"  the  Duchess  retorted  sharply. 
"She  is  the  child  of  my  daughter,  Elizabeth." 

Suddenly  her  voice  grew  tender,  as  she  again  turned  to  the 
girl. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  your  mother's  name,  my  dear,"  she 
said.  "I  would  prefer  that  my  heiress  should  be  so  called.  I 
can  see  you  are  perfectly  happy,  and  so  won't  care,  but 
there  will  be  a  couple  of  million  pounds  when  I  am  gone, 
and  there  is  no  one  to  have  it  all  but  you.  And  I  want  you 
to  try  to  love  me  a  bit,  my  child.  I  am  an  old  woman,  and 
very  lonely." 


154       THE  BELOVED  ADVENTURER 

"I  will  indeed!"  Betty  cried,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  pity  and 
affection,  and  put  her  arms  about  the  old  lady's  neck. 

"There,  there,  now!"  the  Duchess  exclaimed,  abruptly  with 
drawing  from  the  embrace.  "I'll  have  to  get  back  to  my  both 
ersome  Prince  of  what-y'-may-call-it,  but  you  must  run  over 
and  see  me  soon,  Betty.  And  you,  Cecil!"  she  added  sharply, 
"you  are  to  bring  her  up  to  London  when  the  season  opens.  I 
want  to  have  the  pleasure  of  creating  a  real  sensation  by  pre 
senting  at.  Court  a  young  woman  with  some  claim  to  good 
looks!" 

Whereupon  the  Duchess  of  Drex  hurried  away,  lest  she  should 
outrage  the  conventions  of  her  caste  by  a  display  of  the  emotions 
that  filled  her  heart  with  happiness. 

Still  scarcely  comprehending,  Betty  stared  after  the  depart 
ing  Duchess,  and  Cecil  dazedly  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"Quite  extraordinary,  y'know — by  Jove,  yes!"  he  observed 
with  firm  conviction. 

A  month  later,  when  the  autumn  sun  shone  straight  down 
through  the  reddening  leaves  of  the  giant  oaks,  a  silent  throng 
gathered  on  the  lawn  before  the  doors  of  Croftlaigh — villagers 
and  cottagers,  plowmen  and  woodsmen,  all  who  held  land 
under  the  Earl  of  Swarthmore  were  there,  awaiting  the  fulfil 
ment  of  an  ancient  rite.  As  the  clock  in  the  distant  village 
spire  boomed  the  hour  of  noon,  the  portals  were  thrown  open, 
and  Lord  Cecil  stood  before  them. 

"Men  of  Croftlaigh,"  he  said,  "as  of  old  time  custom,  and 
that  you  may  know  this  House  shall  endure  through  the  years 
to  come,  I  present  to  you  him  who  shall  in  the  pleasure  of  God 
be  Nineteenth  Earl  of  Swarthmore!" 

He  raised  his  hand,  and  into  the  sunlight  stepped  James,  the 
body  servant  of  His  Lordship,  who  held  upon  his  hands  a  bas- 


IN  PORT  O'   DREAMS  155 

ket,  in  which  lay  a  baby  asleep  in  a  nest  of  lace,  undisturbed 
by  the  crashing  cheers. 

Lord  Cecil  removed  his  hat,  and  once  more  spoke. 

"And  to  Her  Ladyship,"  he  said,  "who  has  blessed  this  House 
with  an  heir,  do  we  all  give  thanks  and  homage." 

Glowing  like  a  pink  pearl  against  the  darkness  of  the  great 
hall  behind  her,  Betty  came  shyly  to  her  husband's  side,  and 
took  his  hand  and  bowed,  as  once  again  the  ringing  cheers 
burst  forth. 

"Men  of  Croftlaigh,  I  thank  you,"  Lord  Cecil  said,  and  with 
the  Lady  Cecil  upon  his  arm,  turned  to  re-enter  the  abode 
that  had  sheltered  his  ancestors,  and  would  shelter  generations 
of  his  name  yet  to  come. 


A     000  757  851     i 


